Cold Uprising
by Lizzy Sidle
Summary: Sara led the first few years of her life walking blindly through her home's violence. After 'the incident'she's being brought to light by new friends and enemies. Follow her childhood journeyfrom 5 to 18.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own CSI, Sara Sidle, or any characters mentioned on the show. However, all original characters _are_ mine.

**Spoilers: Nesting Dolls, No Humans Involved, Committed. (Season 5)**

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**Prologue**

"_Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them."_

_--Oscar Wilde_

**September 16, 1976**

Sunlight poured into a medium-sized room from a small space between two navy blue curtains. The rays shone on the windowsill, spreading down to the maple wood flooring, sweeping over the brass-framed bed and light blue walls. Two figures dozed beneath a blue and white quilt draped across them, peacefully unaware that morning had come and that a small somebody was about to alert them to the news.

Beside a large oak vanity was a door, and the blissfully silent morning was interrupted when it creaked open, a small pair of eyes peeking out from the room on the other side of it. When nothing inside the room changed, the door opened completely and the girl behind the eyes stepped cautiously into the room.

A yellow, red-balloon patterned scrunchie held her dark, curly hair back. She wore a matching sundress, inside out and back to front, with the buttons in the front only partly done. White sandals on the wrong feet pinched her toes. Yet after all the wardrobe mishaps, she smelt faintly like lilac—the smell of the perfume her grandmother had given her at her birthday party a few days before.

The girl cautiously shut the door behind her and stepped outside the shadow of the vanity, into the sunlight. Quietly, she crept across the faint blue rug on the floor next to her parents' bed and stood silently beside it, gazing thoughtfully into her father's closed eyes as if contemplating the best way to tell him it was morning.

Avoiding decision, she stood on her tiptoes and peered across the quilt at the other form, sleeping deeply. A mane of thick, wavy, dark brown hair blocked the girl's view of her mother's face. She was almost a miniature version of her mother, but her face was more youthful, being only five years old, and her eyes were brown, like her father's, instead of a deep ocean blue.

The girl sighed, standing normally again, turning her head to the window and squinting into the sunlight. It was barely 7:30, and she knew her parents wouldn't appreciate an early awakening, but this was urgent!

"Daddy…" she whispered apprehensively, tearing away from the window and looking back into his closed eyes.

Instead of answering, he took in a deep breath, pulled his blanket closer, adjusted his pillow, and fell back asleep with a smack of his lips, without even opening his eyes.

"Daddy!" she said, slightly louder. "Daddy, it's important." No answer. Her young face scrunched up in frustration and her eyebrows furrowed. "Daddy!" Again, he did nothing but doze on. "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!"

She was almost shouting now, bouncing up and down, her bob of curly hair bouncing off her back. Somehow, he continued to snooze. With an exasperated groan, she laid her chin on the mattress edge and let out a puff of air that sent a stray curl flying behind her face.

She reached forward with her hand, placing a finger atop her father's softly snoring nose.

"Daddy, wake up or I'll poke your nose really hard," she threatened. When he didn't answer, she pressed her finger against it as hard as she could, but her hand slipped and her finger jabbed his eye.

"YOW!" The man shot bolt upright, startling the woman next to him awake, and causing Sara to jump back in fright, hiding behind the mattress with only her eyes showing and the ends of her fingers gripping the edge.

"_Sara_!" he roared in anger.

"Waz…what's going on…?" her mother mumbled.

"I'm sorry!" Sara squeaked. "I didn't mean to! You wouldn't wake up so I told you I'd poke your nose if you didn't get up but you still didn't wake up and-and I-I I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Uggh, it's okay sweetie," he muttered, rubbing his right eye in pain and reaching around blindly with his left hand, trying to find his daughter's head. "There you are. Come here sweetheart…"

"I'm sorry," she repeated, grabbing onto her father's large hand with one of her small ones and using the other to clamber onto the bed beside him.

"Really, it's all right. You just startled me is all. I had a late night at work yesterday."

"I had to tell you something important."

"And what would that be, honey?" Her mother entered the conversation, speaking lightly and with a sweetness that came naturally.

"I'm five now!" she cried happily, with no introduction.

"And what a grown up five-year-old you've become. I can see you've got yourself dressed for the occasion?"

"Yes, and I think my sandals are too small now. I must be growing." She beamed.

"They might fit a little better if they're on the right feet," Allen, her father, pointed out.

Sara's smile turned into a frown.

"I tried," she said flatly.

"I know you did," he replied. "Try to fix them."

"I tried to get it right," Sara repeated, undoing the buckles and pulling them off.

"Don't be hard on yourself. We know you tried and you even got those tricky buckles right." Laura pulled a brush from her bedside drawer and quickly redid Sara's ponytail with ease as her daughter attempted to fix her simple mistake.

"And we might need to fix that dress, too," Allen added, looking at the tag that showed at Sara's chest.

"It looks the same on both sides," Sara offered in defense, placing her sandals on the right feet.

"So…" Laura cut in, changing the subject from Sara's honest, everyday five-year-old mix-ups. "What would you like to eat for your birthday breakfast?"

Sara sighed as she carefully did the buckles on her shoes. "Can I have pancakes, please?"

"Of course you can…" Laura said, smiling. She reached forward for Sara's head, pulled it to her lips and kissed her temple. She then placed a tender kiss on the cheek of her husband, peeling the blankets from herself and easing out of bed. She headed out the door and to the kitchen.

Silence ensued as Sara finished up the last of her buckles. Allen reached out and peeled the dress off, turning it right side out as he went. He then put it in the right direction and pulled it back over Sara's head.

"I tried to get dressed right."

"You put the perfume on nicely," Allen noted, buttoning the red buttons in back.

"I did it just like Grandma Taylor said."

"And it smells wonderful."

Sara grinned, then reached her arms forward and hugged her father tightly around the neck

"I'm sorry I poked your eye."

His smooth, freshly shaven cheek brushed against Sara's and she breathed in the musty scent of his hair.

He patted her affectionately on the shoulder, then replied, "It's okay, sweetheart."

They hung there for a moment until the scent of freshly cooking pancakes wafted in.

"Hey, Sara," Allen whispered into her ear.

"What?" she whispered back.

"Guess what sneaks out every once in awhile when it's _really, really_ hungry, just to eat little girls like you."

Sara choked on a giggle and pulled away quickly.

"What?" she managed through an impending laugh.

"The…the…TICKLE BUG! AH! Run! Quick! Into the kitchen where Mom can protect you!" he yelled, pulling out his hands, hooking them together at the thumbs and waggling his fingers around like some mutant spider.

Sara screamed and hopped off the bed, sprinting out into the kitchen where Laura had set out a plate of pancakes, one special one in the shape of a smiley face.

* * *

A half hour or so later the family sat at the kitchen table, empty, syrup covered plates in front of each person. Laura was slowly wiping sticky syrup from Sara's fingers and face with a damp dishrag. The sounds of people loading into their cars and driving off for work leaked in through the front door. 

"So," Laura began, tossing the dishrag over to Allen who was heading to the sink with the stack of dishes. "Since we gave you your birthday presents at Grandma Taylor's house, we've decided that for your birthday we'll take you somewhere. Anywhere you like."

Sara, who had been watching a group of birds outside, turned her face to the empty plate in front of her, thinking. "Can I go to the beach?"

"Actually, honey, it's probably best if you go somewhere inside, like the bookstore," Allen offered.

."Well I'd like to go to the beach."

"It's supposed to rain, sweetheart."

"It's sunny outside!" Sara cried, and she was right.

"But the weatherman said today that it'll get cloudy very soon and then it will rain really hard."

Sara frowned.

"But you said—"

"Okay, okay! We'll go to the beach…but you have to promise not to whine when we have to go somewhere else out of the rain."

"I promise."

Allen cut in again from the sink where he stood washing dishes. "Now what do you say to your mother?"

"Thank you Mommy!" She crawled into her lap and gave her a tight squeeze. "I'll go get the beach blanket from the garage." And she scampered off through the front door.

* * *

"Do you think we'll see the seals like we did when we went fishing?" 

"I don't see why not," Allen replied, pulling the blanket out of the trunk of their tan station wagon and handing it to Sara, who struggled under its weight. "They've been here every time we've gone."

"They're really cute," Sara declared, turning on her heel and heading across the deserted asphalt parking lot. Scattered clouds shielded the sun, beams of yellow shining from behind them. When she reached the sand, she walked a few more yards before setting the blanket down and unfolding it. Laura joined her, holding onto a small cooler filled with water and snacks and behind her, Allen held onto a camera.

Sara sat down on the blanket and looked out at the crashing waves.

"Smile, Sara," Allen ordered.

She turned and grinned at the camera as he took her photo.

"Good one," he said, sitting beside her, as Laura also sat on the blanket.

"Daddy, I want a piggy back ride," Sara stated, not quite as an order, but as more of a suggestion.

"Alright…" He squatted, pulled Sara onto his back, and stood up. "Let's head over to the water, see if we can't see those seals."

Sara nodded, her chin resting on her shoulder, her arms resting gently around his neck—she knew he wouldn't let her fall. He plodded through the sand in his sandals, before reaching the place where wet sand met dry.

"Daddy, I see them! I see them!" Sara said excitedly, pointing at the numerous harbor seals along a different shore across the bay. Their brown fur was shimmering, and their loud barks just barely reached the lone family on the beach.

"I do too," he said softly. "Sara, you want to play airplane?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed, even as Allen eased her from his back into the crook of his arm.

He put on a crackly voice and said, "And we have takeoff!" He walked towards the waves, slowly swinging Sara back and forth as she held her arms out.

The cool, salty water sprayed Sara's face as she moved forward, her father's legs going further and further into the bay until they were knee deep. He continued to swing her until a particularly large wave came and splashed into Sara's face, causing her to sputter and flail wildly.

"Hey, hey, hey!" he said, lifting her up as she scrambled. "Hey, you're okay! Sara, you're alright!"

She continued to cough, taking in shuddering breaths.

"I couldn't breathe," she choked, trying to clear her throat more effectively.

"You're fine. You just breathed in some water."

"I want to go back to Mommy."

"Okay."

Allen trudged slowly back to shore, holding Sara over his shoulder.

"Somebody looked like they were a little frightened," Laura noted cheerily when they reached her. "Smile!" she exclaimed, holding the camera up. Sara smiled as best she could, with a little tickling help from Allen.

"Ah, Sara just got a mouthful of water."

"Did you like the water, sweetie?"

Sara sat down on the blanket and cuddled up to her mother who was leaning back on two hands. "No, not really…it was really cold."

"It usually is, especially when it's not summertime."

Sara sighed and buried herself into Laura's side. She picked at a seashell in the sand as Allen munched on a bag of chips from the cooler. As they sat there quietly for several minutes, the sky slowly darkened. Then suddenly thunder rolled and the sky broke, letting forth the raindrops that saturated it.

Sara moaned angrily.

"We haven't even been here that long!" she cried, folding her arms and pouting.

"We warned you Sara," Laura said as she stood. "Get to the car."

Sara sighed and stormed to the parking lot, thrusting open the car door and climbing into her car seat. Laura buckled her in as Allen piled in the cooler, blanket and camera back inside the trunk.

The rain was coming down harder now and lightning flashed past the dark clouds. Allen turned the engine over and pulled out of the lot as Sara sat frowning in the backseat. Laura reached a hand back and rubbed Sara's knee comfortingly.

"If you want, sweetie, we can go down to O'Neil's bookstore and get you a new book. I'm sure Mr. O'Neil would give you one cheaper than usual since it's your birthday."

"I want to."

Laura smiled and pulled her hand back into her lap, looking out the front window.

"Thank you for taking me to the beach like I wanted," Sara said quietly, staring out her rain-splashed windowpane.

"Anything for you Sara," Allen said absentmindedly as thunder clapped heavily in the distance. "You know we love you."


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter Two**

**October 11, 1977**

Sara startled awake to the loud crash of a storm outside the shelter of the moving school bus. She peeled her cheek from the cool glass and stretched tiredly. Sara sat alone and quiet, although the rowdy students around her were making a large amount of noise as they threw things across the seats and shouted down rows to their friends. Falling asleep on this bus seemed a difficult thing to do, but somehow she had managed it.

She had dreamt about a trip to the beach about a year ago. It was a pleasant dream, and the pleasantry was doubled when she was actually recalling the memory. Despite the fact that the trip had been rather short-lived, for some reason it really, truly stood out in her mind.

In the past year or so, things had changed slightly. Laura had it set in her mind that she wanted to own a bed and breakfast. She had set to work right away—researching the business and working on things around their house that needed to be fixed and expanded. She had always said that the attic weren't being put to any appropriate use.

While Laura was immersed in her B&B fantasies, Allen had been hard at work trying to earn the promotion he'd been fighting towards for a year. Then finally, around the third week of April, he managed it. Longer hours, but much more pay, which would also support Laura's wishes. He also received an office with a view, which is what he'd been dreaming of ever since he started at the company. A personal secretary guarded the way into his office, and he was almost obsessive with the gold nametag on the front of his door.

And Sara had a bit of excitement in her life as well in the past month. Because she had needed to be five when entering kindergarten, she couldn't start until she was nearly six years old. But her aptitude for reading, writing, and simple arithmetic put her far ahead of the class, and after a bit of discussion with the principal, Sara was permitted to simply skip kindergarten and enter first grade. She had settled into the position, but the other kids viewed her as a strange foreigner. Nobody really talked to her, or played with her at recess.

Sara stretched again in her seat, shifting so she was sitting straight. She peered around at the other students, when a paper ball was flung in her direction, hitting the side of her head. She looked toward the offender and saw Max Hall sitting a couple seats back, sticking out his tongue and making a face. He was in first grade with Sara and had messy brown hair and a permanent guilty smirk showing his missing two front teeth. He wasn't really a bully, but more of a goof-off. Sara glared back at him and invented her own face before turning around.

The glass was covered in the streams of water dripping down as the bus moved. She couldn't see out too well, but she knew the bus route and prepared to get off, standing up along with a handful of other kids, including Max. She wedged herself between a couple of third graders and shuffled along.

As they stepped off the stairs, she was met with a small group of adults with umbrellas held over their heads. Some were walking away with their children. Others were shooing their kids into cars parked across the street. Sara's dad was the one who waited for her at the stop, walking her home in rain or shine. However, when Sara searched through the masses for him, it was quickly apparent that Allen wasn't there.

"Dad?" she called into the dispersing crowd of people and umbrellas. She was holding her backpack over her head for limited protection. "Daddy?" Still, nobody answered her. Her stomach felt as if it had been turned inside out. She turned around and watched the backs of every parent as they walked away. She recognized nobody.

The bus stop was located in the center of town, nestling at the intersection between Aberdeen Way and Cameron Street. The bay could be found if you traveled north on Aberdeen and then turned east on Madrone. The outskirts of town were located south and west, the suburbs were to the southeast towards San Francisco and the main part of town with older houses and stores was to the east. Sara's house was in that area, being one of the older homes.

Sara looked down all the streets and saw nobody walking down the sidewalk, except she did see Max and his dad who was tying the boy's left shoe. When the man straightened and stood, he spied Sara, standing there in the rain looking frantic.

"Sara? Are you alright?" Mr. Hall questioned pleasantly.

Mr. Hall had been to her house before. He owned a small roofing business, and Sara's mother had been talking to him about prices and installation.

"Have you seen my dad?" She peered up at him, still gripping tightly to her backpack.

"Uh, no…I'm sorry, I haven't."

Sara sighed heavily. She was wearing a pair of tennis shoes and they were getting soaked through to the socks. Her light blue t-shirt was also being dripped on and the sides of her jean shorts were beginning to gather water. Her stomach still felt twisted, and a feeling of unease hung with her, even though she was merely six.

"Here," Mr. Hall said, moving the umbrella over his, Max's, and Sara's heads.

Sara took the opportunity to pour the water off the top of her backpack.

"We can walk you home if you like, Sara," Mr. Hall offered. "We live just one street down from you."

"What if he shows up later though?" Sara wondered. Mostly she didn't feel like walking with Max, but she was soaked and needed to get home for a change of clothes.

"I'm sure he'll understand. Besides, I've been meaning to talk to your mother anyway. I've got a sample booklet of shingles that I was bringing home from work."

Sara sighed and took one more anxious look around. Her gaze lingered as she and Max stared at each other, but then she turned to Mr. Hall and said, "I guess we can go then…"

The group took off walking east, crossing over Cameron and heading down Aberdeen. Max splashed in the puddles as he walked along, kicking some of the muddy water up at Sara and getting her even more wet than she already was. Her backpack was once again where it should be, on her back, but she was starting to think that maybe she needed it again what with all the water Max was splashing at her.

Cars hissed past them as they continued down Aberdeen. They passed a movie theater, a bakery, the library, O'Neil's bookstore, and Main Street Market, before turning left on Balmoral Street. Balmoral was a side street that led to the end of a cul-de-sac. Sara's house was on this road, next to other similar houses. They were tall and narrow homes, on narrow lots with medium sized backyards fenced to hold in kids and dogs. The front yards were about half the size of the backyards, and were decorated to the taste of its owner. A few held flamingos, while others had birdbaths or a statue of the Virgin Mary.

"Number 232, right Sara?" Mr. Hall read off the mailbox.

Sara nodded quietly, turning onto the footpath that led to her front door. Her home was like the others—old with well-detailed, tall windows. The front door was implanted with a stain-glass window and it connected the indoor area of the house with the tiny inlet of a porch. Wooden stairs attached to the porch and led down to the footpath. Laura had installed elegant, black railings on the sides of the stairs and planted flowerbeds along the sides of the house. The original, faded, pale blue siding had been replaced with a nice yellow color, and Laura had changed the ugly brown trim with a mixture of white and pale green.

Sara sprinted through the rain up to the front door and rang the doorbell to announce her presence before opening the door and entering the foyer. The first room was a living room, large and spacious filled with a medley of functional and classy furniture. Stairs to the second floor was to the right of the front door. They were wood, covered with a single strip of carpet from top to bottom.

There was a door across the living room that led into the kitchen and dining room. Both rooms were roomy, and had been partially refurnished. Sara's parents' room was in the far left corner of the house behind the dining room. The current game plan for Laura's vision was to finish the final touches to the first floor and then start redecorating the second floor and attic.

"I'm in the kitchen honey!" Laura called from beyond the door. Sara walked quickly to the kitchen, dripping water along the floor. Her shoes squelched and squeaked on the hardwood as she entered the room.

Laura was stirring something in a pot that smelled like spaghetti sauce. The smells wafted into Sara's nose and she hurried over to see inside.

"We're having spagh—sweetie, why are you all wet?"

"Hey, Laura."

Mr. Hall had shown up in the kitchen doorway, Max standing by his side, sneaky smirk still plastered on his face.

Laura's mouth hung open in confusion as she set the wooden spoon on the counter.

"Where's Allen?" she asked.

"Daddy wasn't at the bus stop, so Mr. Hall walked me home," Sara replied.

Laura looked down at her and brushed a wet string of hair behind her daughter's ear. "Sara, go get some dry clothes on…I need to talk to Mr. Hall."

Sara nodded and brushed past the two people in the doorway. She squeaked through the living room and then squelched up the stairs to the second floor. The house's main bathroom was directly across from the stairs. A hallway led from the top of the stairs to the left. Sara walked down it and turned left into her room, the only door on that side of the hallway except for the door that led to the stairs for the attic.

Sara's room was painted pale yellow. The one continuous strip of wallpaper bordering the middle of the wall was Winnie the Pooh, and had been since Sara was born. There were two large windows on each end of the front wall, placed at equal distances from either side of the room. They faced the street outside, cars hissing along on it, spraying water from beneath their wheels. Sara peeked out her window and watched, trying to see if her father was one of them. He wasn't.

Sara's closet was on the right side of the room, next to a toy box filled with animals and random toys. Sara opened the door and flipped on the light to her closet. It wasn't quite big enough to be considered a walkthrough, but it was good-sized—approximately two by three feet, covered with faded wallpaper. Sara pulled a pale lavender shirt and white shorts from a hanger and put them on, tossing her wet clothes into a laundry basket in the back of the closet. Her feet went bare.

She headed back downstairs to see Max sitting in front of the television in the living room. He ignored Sara's presence, so she walked past him and headed into the kitchen. Laura and Mr. Hall were sitting at the island in the kitchen where Sara usually did her homework while her mother made dinner.

"I've got a comb here, Sara…" Laura said in acknowledgement. Sara stepped over to her and Laura hoisted her into her lap and began to comb the snarls out of Sara's hair.

"Anyway," Mr. Hall continued, beginning from where he had left off when Sara entered. "With the yellow siding and white trim, I was thinking a color like dark brown would be nice…"

An hour later, Sara's hair had been combed through at least a dozen times, and Laura had settled on an appropriate color and price for a new roof, as well as a date later in the next month for it to be installed. The spaghetti had finished up, and Laura had welcomed Mr. Hall and Max to stay for dinner as thanks for taking Sara home safely.

Now Sara and Laura sat in the kitchen. Laura was washing dishes and Sara was doing homework with her backpack leaning against the stool she sat on. The rain had softened to a drizzle, pattering softly against the kitchen window overlooking the backyard and garage. The garage wasn't connected to the house, but off in the far right corner of the lot.

Sara suddenly heard a car rolling into the driveway. She and Laura turned their heads and saw Allen pulling up to the garage in the station wagon. He quickly cut the engine and exited the car, slamming the door behind him and jogging up to the backdoor.

"Laura!" he gasped upon entering. "Is Sa—oh thank God…there you are…" He went over to Sara at the stool and swept her up into a tight hug.

"You weren't at the bus stop," Sara stated, nestling her head between his shoulder and neck and breathing into the slightly damp leather jacket he was wearing.

"Time got away from me, I'm sorry."

Laura stood with one arm holding the dishrag and leaning on the counter, the other on her hip. Her facial expression was one mixed between relief and incredulity.

"Hey babe," Allen said, setting Sara on the floor and sweeping over to Laura, giving her a kiss and hug. He rubbed her back gently and heaved a sigh.

"I need to talk to you…" Laura said quietly, setting her chin on his shoulder and wrapping her arms around him.

"Alright."

"Sara, you stay," Laura ordered.

Sara clambered back onto her stool and continued her homework while Laura gently grasped Allen's wrist and led him out into the living room. Sara waited for a couple of seconds, but curiosity got the best of her (as it usually did) and she wandered over to the closed kitchen door and listened quietly.

"Where were you?" Laura's voice was stern, no-nonsense, definitely not sugarcoated as it usually was. Her voice wasn't raised, but it was the kind of tone that made you _want_ to be yelled at.

"Look, Laura, I'm sorry. I really am. But there was this sales pitch Bill and I had to work on and time got away from us."

"Time got away from you for two hours? You forgot to bring your only child home from the bus stop!"

"I didn't mean to! It was an accident!"

With every response, on either side, the decibel of the conversation increased a little. Laura stopped the trend with a soft sigh, before speaking again in a slight whisper.

"Steve brought Sara home."

"Oh, _he_ was here? Great. Just great—you can't even wait a couple extra hours for me to get home?"

"So you would have preferred Sara stay out in the rain and wait for you?"

"Well, no, but—"

"But _nothing_. Steve was very polite and helpful. I even settled the date for when we're getting that new roof."

"Oh, and while I was gone, you were settling plans about _my _house without me? Just because you want this bed and breakfast, doesn't mean you can do whatever you want with the house. You said you'd tell me when you wanted to make decisions."

"_Settle down_, Allen. I chose the color shingles you said you would like."

Sara could hear him take in a deep breath and heave a sigh.

"I don't like Hall over here."

"Why not?" Laura snapped. "He's a good man, who's doing a good a job as any at raising those three boys by himself."

"They're all brats, especially Max."

This peeked Sara's interest and she opened the door a crack.

"_How can you be so inconsiderate_?" Laura hissed.

"I hear he hits them with a belt." Allen smirked snidely and reached for Laura, as a cheeky gesture saying he didn't want to argue about it anymore.

"Stop it." She pushed his hands away. "I don't have to hear this. I know for a fact that information is a pure, cold-hearted rumor concocted by Mrs. Perkins and her daughter. They're awful gossipers, and you _know that._"

There was a pause as Sara's mother let out an angry groan and Allen let his arms drop to his sides. Laura rubbed the sides of her head, and without another word headed towards the stairs. Allen let out a frustrated noise and jogged after her.

"Laura—Laura, get back here!" He reached out and seized her wrist, trying to pull her around.

"Let _go_ Allen!"

"Laura—you're being irrational—"

But she continued to struggle against his grip and when she wriggled her hand free and began to clamber the stairs, Allen thrust himself forward and grabbed the back of her shirt.

"Listen to me!"

But he had pulled back too hard, too quickly, and Laura fell backwards down the stairs. The back of her head hit a step, and she slid down the other five steps before coming to a stop at the foot of the staircase, unmoving and eyes closed. Her chest moved up and down with breath, but there was not other sign of life.

"Ah, hell…" Allen muttered, bending down to her, but then he saw Sara standing stock-still, dumbstruck, in the kitchen doorway.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

**November 23, 1978**

"I want to watch the movie too," Sara whined. She was dressed in a blue, purple, and orange sleeveless dress with a white collar and ribbon across her waistline. Her curly hair had been left down, just brushing her shoulders. At the moment, she was standing in the doorway to the small living room of her grandmother's house, sticking her lip out angrily. The room was 'decorated' with ugly orange and brown carpeting and faded cream-turned-gray wallpaper. There was one window in the room, across from the doorway and covered with an old lace curtain. The otherwise dreary room was warmed by an array of family photos across one bare wall.

"You're too little," her cousin, Ted, replied flatly. He was lying on a foldout couch, blanket over his head and bowl of popcorn on the floor in front of him. Star Wars was playing on the television before the bed.

"Am not."

"Yes you are. You're only seven and I'm twelve. You're too little to see this movie. It's _really_, _really_ scary, and besides, Grandma said she wanted your help in the kitchen with the turkey and mashed potatoes."

"I already helped Grandma with the food. I want to watch the movie with you."

Ted sighed, reached out and paused the TV, then stood up and walked to the door. He towered over Sara, both hands on either side of the doorway, staring down at her. She stared back, not intimidated in the least since her grandmother was bustling around in the kitchen a doorway down.

"Sara, listen…" Ted began. He was relatively chubby, with a double chin forming and a belly that just barely fit into his red t-shirt. His hair was curly and blonde and always in need of a haircut. "I don't think you really want to see this movie. They've got scary monsters and robots that shoot at people and people get hurt."

"So?" She didn't look away, determined as well as knowing Ted was only bulging blubber and big words.

"Look…umm…" Ted turned his head down the hallway and his eyes enlarged in fear. He pointed a finger down towards their grandma's bedroom door and stuttered, "S-Sa-Sara!"

Sara followed his gaze. "There's nothing—" And the door was slammed in her face. "_Ted_!" She pounded angrily on the door with her fists, but he had turned up the volume on the TV to drown out her pleas. This always happened. Ted hated Sara, as well as all their other cousins, even though they only saw each other on holidays. With a heavy sigh, Sara walked down the hall and turned to the right, into the kitchen.

"Grandma," Sara began, walking up to the counter and watching her assemble the cranberry sauce. "Grandma, Ted is being mean. He won't let me watch the Star Wars movie."

"You're too young," Grandma Taylor replied emotionlessly.

Sara pouted, hanging on the countertop with her fingertips and letting her knees give out. "But I want to watch it."

"I'm sorry, no."

She brushed past Sara, holding onto the platter filled with the red-violet gelatinous blob. Though she was still upset, Sara grabbed the giant bowl filled with mashed potatoes and staggered out after her grandmother into the dining room. Her mother, father, two aunts, three uncles, and four other cousins were all crowded into the room, chatting up a wave of noise. Sara could hardly blame Ted for locking himself up with the Star Wars movie.

There were her Aunt Sandra and Uncle Larry who had two kids, Heather and Stephanie. Sandra was the second youngest of Laura's three siblings. Lightly put, she was a ditz, loud and not exactly the brightest of the bunch. Larry was the financial and disciplinarian backbone of the family. He was a good lawyer, and was the firm hand that kept his daughters from being completely out of control.

Heather was very much little-miss-perfect, or as close to one as a five-year-old can get. Stephanie was in her terrible-twos stage, and was enjoying every minute of it. She yelled, threw tantrums, and threw whatever she was holding at anyone and everything that made her angry. People at the table also seemed currently oblivious to the fact that she was preparing to throw her spoon across the table and into the turkey

Then there was Aunt Diane and Uncle Paul who were the parents of Ted, William, and Christine. They were living with Grandma after taking a trip from their hometown in Ohio. Diane was very much like Laura, soft-spoken, motherly. Her husband was the oldest of Laura's siblings and was very responsible and successful at his job as a car mechanic.

William was Sara's favorite cousin, and the closest to her own age at six years old. However, Will was sick, and was not sitting at the table—banished to his grandmother's bedroom away from the noise and people. Christine was a drama queen in the shape and size of a four-year-old. She'd never really grown out of being two years old, though she had developed a substantial amount of arrogant sass.

The final person at the table was Uncle Donald. He was the black sheep and the youngest of the family, hiding a drug and alcohol addiction under his belt that nobody spoke of and the kids didn't know existed. He had been through three wives and five children, holding no custody over any of them due to several DUIs, a carrying concealed conviction, and a stash of marijuana found in the trunk of his car many years ago. Yet the family put up with him at each holiday.

"Dinner!" Grandma Taylor cried, setting the sauce next to the turkey and green-bean-casserole as well as grabbing the spoon from Stephanie's hand. Sara heaved the mashed potatoes onto the long table everyone sat at and scrambled into her respective spot between her mother and father.

The murmur of people only increased as the final dishes were set out. Grandma Taylor sat at the head of the table, with Diane and Paul on her right. The seats continued with Ted and William's empty chairs, and then Christine sitting next to Laura. Then came Sara, Allen, Donald, Larry, Heather, Stephanie, Sandra, and back to Grandma Taylor.

Grace was said quietly, and they began to pass around the food. Green-bean-casserole, corn, turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, yam and marshmallow salad, cranberry sauce, and Sandra's disgusting meatballs smothered in cream-of-mushroom soup. Sara grimaced as Laura shoveled a meatball onto her plate. The talk continued and the sound of the television could only just be heard beyond the kitchen.

"Ted wouldn't let me watch Star Wars," Sara stated, carefully moving the rest of her food away from the meatballs.

"Good. You're too young," Laura replied, cutting up Sara's turkey.

Sara heaved a sigh.

"Omigod, Laura! What's that bruise on your arm from?" Sandra asked from across the table. She was goggling at a large bruise on Laura's left arm, just a little ways down from her shoulder.

"Oh…umm…"

"Laura rammed into the door on her way out with the yam and marshmallow stuff. It was an accident," Allen said, stepping in with a pleasant tone. He reached across the back of Sara's chair and put his hand on Laura's right shoulder, squeezing gently and rubbing his thumb along it.

"You've been awfully clumsy lately, haven't you dear?" Grandma Taylor added, pointing her fork at Laura. "What's going on?" She leaned closer to her and whispered, "Is it that time of the month?"

Laura shrugged, smiling faintly.

Sara looked up at Allen expectantly, fork halfway to her mouth, but he didn't look back. He had just flat-out lied through his teeth to the rest of the family. Laura hadn't run into the door on accident; Allen had pushed her into it that morning. Sara couldn't recall the reason—the violence in the house wasn't exactly extreme. It was like an annoying buzz that just won't go away, subtle, yet still enough to stress the family.

Laura had come home from the hospital with just a concussion and a substantial bump on the back of her head, but that event had been the turning point in the Sidle home. Allen seemed to have interpreted Laura's act of being vague about how she fell to mean that he could continue to use physical force to end arguments in his favor. Bills came along one day, and they had argued over the costs. Squeezing Laura's arm to the brink of watering eyes, Allen had gotten his way. Stress at work came home with him, and it only added to the fire, giving Laura a small cut on her chin. Laura did nothing; she had only needed to go to the hospital the one time she had fallen, and saw no reasonto make a fuss about it.

"But Daddy—"

Allen turned his gaze to Sara and winked. She closed her mouth and lowered her fork, and then with a slow exhale, she turned quietly back to her potatoes as conversation continued around them.

"How's the business going, Jean?" Larry asked, turning to Grandma Taylor.

She paused, and with a feeble smile replied softly, "I'm thinking about selling it…"

Silence washed across the table.

"Why?" Laura questioned after about thirty seconds of shocked disbelief.

"Well, you know how these things are when you get old…you just can't handle things like you used to. The store is getting a little too out of control for somebody like me. I'm thinking about giving it to Marcus and his family—for a fee, of course."

"But…but Ma, we spent our entire childhoods in that store with Pop," Paul said, obviously shaken.

"Well I would have given it to you, Paul, but you and Diane don't live close enough. Sandra, I know how busy you are with the kids, and Larry wouldn't have time, being a lawyer; Laura, you're putting all your heart into that bed and breakfast, the store would be an unnecessary addition."

"What about me?" Donald asked from the other end of the table, head bent over his plate of food.

Grandma Taylor paused, then said, "You're broke."

"Exactly. I could use the money."

"You'd sell that store just for the money and spend it on—" she stumbled in her speech, and continued with discretion. " You'd spend it on unnecessary things."

Donald smirked and continued eating.

Nobody could come up with a proper argument to her way of thinking—she was just going to do what she thought was right, and Marcus Iverson was a good man who wouldn't use any money earned for drugs and alcohol. He'd worked at Grandma Taylor's store for a very long time. Still, the thought of the store being given to somebody outside the family was still painful to everybody, Sara included.

Her grandfather had co-owned the store with her grandmother. He died before Sara was born, but usually when Sara visited her grandmother for a weekend, they would spend much of their time down at the store. Sara took it upon herself to re-re-rearrange the small toy section in the back.

"Mommy?" came a rasping voice from behind them all.

The family turned to see Will standing crusty-eyed, tousle-haired, and snot-covered in the dining room doorway.

"What, honey?" Diane replied.

"I don't feel good."

"I know, baby."

"I'm think I'm going to—" And he threw up right in the doorway.

Everybody sprang into action. Diane leapt from her seat and swept Will up in her arms, running for the bathroom before anyone could blink. Paul andGrandmahad attacked the vomit with paper towels, and the other adults plugged their noses and that of their children. Sandra however, grimaced at the sight, and began to sway.

"Coming through!" Larry grabbed Sandra's hands and pulled her into the kitchen, where she puked in the sink.

Donald chuckled lightly and forked another slab of turkey onto his plate.

* * *

An hour later, dinner was finished and the family had dispersed from the table. Sandra's stomach had settled and Will was in Grandma Taylor's bedroom with his mother and the flu. 

Sara was leaning against the hallway, next to the door where Will was sleeping. She hummed a nameless tune to herself, traced the shoelaces in her shoes over and over, and clapped a one-person version of Mary-Mack, all to keep herself occupied as she waited for Diane to leave and her chance to go in and talk to Will.

After a few minutes, Diane opened the door and stepped out. She held a finger to her lips, looking Sara's way, telling her that he was not to be disturbed.

"Come on, sweetie," Diane placed a hand to Sara's back and led her down the hallway, away from Will.

"I have to go to the bathroom." Sara stopped dead in her tracks and refused to go further.

Diane sighed and hesitated before replying, "All right, but stay away from Will. He's tired and you don't want to get sick too. Make sure you wash your hands."

Sara turned and tiptoed back to the bedroom. She cautiously turned the doorknob and proceeded into the room. Will was lying on his grandmother's bed, eyes closed, blankets tucked around him, and a big silver pot on the floor beside the bed.

"Will?" Sara whispered, coming close, her shoulders bent forward, her feet still stepping on tiptoe.

One of his eyes opened, and then the other, and when he saw who it was, he sat up.

"I'm sleeping," he said quietly, rubbing one eye. His hair was curly like Ted's, but shorter and brown. He shared the same face and eyes as Sara, but his head was narrower and his jaw more pointed.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay." Sara stood up straight. She looked around her grandmother's room. It was very quaint, sayings like '_Home is where the heart is._' nailed onto the wall surrounded with pictures. Her grandmother's armoire had plants along the top. A large rug filled the middle of the room. "I can read," Sara stated. "I could read you a book if you want."

Will sat in thought for a few seconds before he replied, "No, I don't…I…" Drool began to form at the corner of his mouth and he began to cry. "_Mommy…_" he moaned. And then he threw up again, all over the floor and Grandma Taylor's quilt.

Sara threw her hands to her face and covered her nose. She turned tail and ran to get her aunt. When she opened the door, she ran headfirst into Diane's stomach,fallingpainfully onto the floor. Diane stumbled and stopped to pick her up.

"Sara, I told you not to be long…what happened?"

"He threw up again."

Diane brushed past Sara and into the room, holding William as Sara watched from the open door. She held the pot to his mouth and her other hand to his head as he continued to heave.

"Sara, go on. You don't want to be here for this," Diane commanded.

With a sigh, Sara turned to leave. She froze at the open doorway to the kitchen. Her grandmother and mother were conversing in a heated whisper.

"_Why didn't you tell us_?" Laura hissed.

"I didn't want you to worry about me, you can't deal with worrying. Hell, Laura, you can barely deal with getting your period without crashing into things! You don't need to be worrying about your mother's health."

"Your _health?_ Mom, this is your _life_ we're talking about! _Your life_!"

Sara raised an eyebrow and peeked around the doorframe. She had thought they were talking about Grandma Taylor selling the shop, but that didn't really have anything to do with her life or health. She saw them standing in the far left corner of the room, by the pantry door.

"One year is still enough of a life for somebody like me. I've done my time here."

"No you haven't," Laura choked, putting the back of her hand to her mouth to hide an open-mouthed sob. "You haven't! Sara needs you here. _I_ need you here, more than anything." She sobbed again, placing both her hands to her face, hiding the gushing tears.

"Laura Jean, pull yourself together. Your daughter's standing there in the doorway, gawking at you like you're from an insane asylum," Grandma Taylor said stoically, folding her frail arms and leaning against the wall, nodding towards the entryway.

Laura spun around and saw Sara, completely in the doorway now, gazing at her feet, biting her lip, hands clasped behind her back.

"I didn't mean to listen."

"It's okay, sweetie…" Laura sniffed. She walked over, bent down and hugged Sara.

"What were you crying about?" Sara asked, setting her chin on Laura's shoulder, absentmindedly brushing her finger along the edges of her mother's bruise. She didn't notice her grandmother leave the room.

Laura sighed and sniffed again, "Baby, your grandma is very sick."

* * *

"That's was completely inconsiderate," Allen remarked out of nowhere as he drove them down the back roads towards home. Grandma Taylor lived in San Francisco—the drive was approximately 45 minutes. The roads were twisty, sometimes on hillsides and sometimes on flat ground. Presently they were driving on a hill, the slope on their left and trees on their right. 

"What was?" Laura asked numbly, her head pressed against the glass. The time was nearing midnight and Sara was fast asleep in the back seat of their station wagon.

"Your mother telling you on a day like today. You shouldn't say stuff like that on a holiday."

"Allen, please…" Laura began halfheartedly, but she drifted off at the end, as if the argument wasn't really worth it.

"Well God knows she's lived long enough…crazy old lady…"

"Allen!" Laura replied sternly, lifting her cheek from the glass and turning sharp eyes to him.

"It's true, and personally I'm glad she's got cancer. It's about time. I'm sick of her. She's never liked me, and you know that. You were an emotional wreck on our wedding day because you were scared she was going to object right in the middle of it at the 'anyone who has a reason' blah, blah, blah."

"That's not true," Laura said quietly.

"Yes it is!" He pointed a finger in her face and continued one notch below yelling, "She never thought I was good enough for you!" The outburst caused Sara to stir. "Don't you remember? When you found out you were pregnant, she said when you told her the news that it might have been best if you got rid of me before Sara was born—that I wasn't a very good influence."

"Allen, I don't want to talk about this now. Just…Just concentrate on getting home," Laura murmured, setting her head back on the window.

Allen avoided looking at the road and instead turned to Laura.

"I don't know how you could stand her _and_ your father while you were growing up."

"Allen, just _watch_ the _road_," Laura commanded, annoyance heavy in her voice.

"I don't need to watch the road. Look, you see? No hands! I could reach around and smack you upside the head, light a cigarette, sing Yankee Doodle, and stick my ass out the window and we wouldn't have to worry because no one is ever on these country roads."

He reached over and pinched Laura in the same location as her bruise to prove a point.

"Are we dead? No? I didn't think so." He still wasn't watching the street before him, though his hands were once again on the wheel.

Laura remained silent, closing her eyes. Her face was streaked with tears, not at what he had been saying or what he had just done, but in the mourning of a daughter for her parent. Sara watched them silently from the backseat. Allen was watching Laura.

"_Daddy_!" Sara unexpectedly screeched from the back seat, her face suddenly terror-stricken

"What the hell, Sara? What?" he replied, turning to look at her. She was staring ahead at the road, eyes wide, her hand gripping the door handle beside her.

"_Oh my God Allen! Watch the road!_" Laura too, screamed.

Allen turned his head to see a pickup truck careening towards them, horn blaring. "HOLY—" He wrenched the wheel to the right, but it went too fast and he drove off the side of the road, ramming the station wagon into the safety rail.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you all very much for your reviews:) They really make my day--nothing quite like checking your email and seeing a bunch of compliments waiting for you. 

Waffle: Sorry, got tired of waiting for you! And yes! I kept it! Caleb gave me an idea to use. :) 


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

**December 2, 1979**

The bedroom was quiet and dark, odd, abstract shadows cast along the navy blue walls. Airplanes hung from the ceiling, unmoving, for there was no wind to move them. On the bunk bed across the room, Will slept without noise or movement other than the sound of his gentle breaths in the still night. On the bunk below his lay Sara, eyes shut tight in deep sleep, shivering beneath her two thick blankets. It was winter in Ohio, and Sara wasn't used to the cold.

The bedroom door opened a small crack, Laura's red, puffy eyes looking past the jamb. When she was sure both children were fast asleep, she silently shuffled over to Sara, blanket in her hand. It was far past midnight, but Laura was having difficulty sleeping. She had tried so hard to sleep, but there was nothing but insomnia to keep her company as she tossed and turned on the couch.

She had checked in on Sara several times, and finally decided a third blanket was in order. Laura draped the quilt across Sara's form, tucking the edges around her carefully. A mop of curly hair had fallen across Sara's face and Laura wiped it away before kissing her daughter's cheek. A tear fell, and she quickly wiped it from her face and drew in a heavy breath. She had been a crying wreck for days, usually when she was alone and had nothing else to concentrate on but the state of things.

Sara was frowning in her sleep, and small, inaudible mumblings could be heard from her lips. Laura frowned with her, and took Sara's hand in hers, gently rubbing it with her thumb. She understood nightmares all too well.

* * *

_"Are you going to sign my cast, Mommy?"_

_Laura strained to smile past closed lips, tears forming at the sides of her eyes. "Of course I will sweetie, just as soon as we get home."_

_"Is Dad coming home with us, or does he have to stay longer?" Sara questioned. Her left arm bore a bright pink cast from her elbow to her hand._

_Laura's lip trembled and she stood up. She had been bent over slightly at the knees so she could speak at eye level with Sara. They were sitting in the nurse's examination room and Sara had just gotten the cast for her broken wrist. Laura took in a deep breath and brushed her shirt flat. _

_"I don't think so, Sara…" She lifted her daughter up by the armpits, and placed her on the ground. "He was hurt a lot worse than you and I were…Daddy's leg was broken and his head hit the windshield so he got a bruise on his brain."_

_"On his brain? Isn't that called a concussion? Tyler from school had one. He fell down on concrete at his house when he played basketball. Didn't you have one too?" Sara put her hand through her mother's and squeezed comfortingly. "He'll be okay, right? Tyler was okay. He can't do math right, but he couldn't do math before either."_

_Laura chuckled._

_"Be nice," she murmured. She opened the door to the waiting room and she and Sara walked out…

* * *

_

Laura stood up and left Will's room. She entered a large alcove where three other doors stood, one opposite of Will's door, and two more of them parallel on the farther side of the alcove. One of those was an open doorway that led out to the rest of the house, specifically the family's large living room. Laura walked through the room and into the kitchen. With little enthusiasm, she opened the fridge and pulled out a jug of milk. She poured herself a glass and stuck it in the microwave, then went and seated herself at the counter. Her purse still sat there from when she and Sara had arrived that morning and she emotionlessly pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

She lit up, took a long drag and sighed, blowing the gray-blue smoke from the side of her mouth. Things had not been going well for them at all. Allen had refused to come to Ohio with them for her mother's funeral. She knew he would, but it hurt all the same and the ache inside was only doubled since Sara couldn't grasp why he hadn't come. Absentmindedly, she stroked a small scar on her chin, examining it in a nearby window, her reflection staring back at her.

Her eyes leaked again and she angrily swiped at them. Tapping her cigarette on a nearby ashtray, Laura cursed herself. No matter how she tried, she couldn't stop crying for more than an hour. The feeling always came and overpowered her. Her mother had been one of the most important people in her life. She felt as if there was no one there for her, and worse, for Sara. She drew the smoke into her lungs again and slowly relished it.

* * *

_"Sara, get me a beer, will you?"_

_Allen sat reclined on his chair in the living room, remote control in his hand, his leg propped up on a stack of pillows and swamped in an enormous cast. Sara sat cross-legged in front of him, scribbling words in a notebook with slight difficulty due to her nearly useless left arm. At his command, she set the notebook on the floor and scurried off into the kitchen. She pulled a bottle of beer from the refrigerator and hurried back to the living room, placing it in her father's hand._

_"Thanks honey." He ruffled her hair as she sat back down on the carpet._

_"Daddy," Sara began, tearing her eyes away from the paper to look at him. "I came up with some more stuff in my notebook."_

_"About what?"_

_"About the bed and breakfast." She lifted her plans to him so he could see better, but he pushed her hand away._

_"Sara, you really don't have to put yourself into all this. Your mother and I can handle it. You need to take a deep breath and take a step back, remember? Miss Fredericks told us that when we went to your parent-teacher conference. She said you got all worked up when you forgot one assignment. You can be a little bit of a…umm…"_

_"A workaholic?"_

_"No, you're just expect too much of yourself. You're not perfect, you know. You shouldn't get upset when you slip up, because it only makes you human."_

_Sara frowned slightly._

_"All you need to do," Allen continued, taking her notebook from her and putting it on the coffee table beside his recliner. "Is watch a little football, relax, and get your father a beer when he asks you to."_

_"It's only 'because you can't, since you hurt your leg," Sara cut in, pointing at his foot with her unhurt arm. "You can't walk into the kitchen. I would have had you get it yourself, because Mommy said I'm not allowed to touch that stuff."_

_"Oh really?"_

_"Yes." Sara looked back to the TV._

_"You want proof you shouldn't drink this stuff?"_

_Sara turned back to him, eyebrow raised._

_"Have a sip, here…" He took the top of the bottle and handed it to Sara, who grimaced. "Don't drink it, just taste it."_

_She put the end of the bottle in her mouth and slowly tipped it back until the liquid touched her tongue. Almost instantly, she zipped it back out, her face scrunched, her tongue sticking out of her mouth. _

_"Ew!" she shouted, thrusting the bottle back at him._

_Allen laughed heartily, his face split wide. "And that's why you don't drink beer. It doesn't taste good to little girls. Maybe when you're older you'll like it, but it doesn't taste too good now, does it?"_

_Sara shook her head, wiping her hand along her tongue to get the taste off…

* * *

_

Laura sighed as the cigarette burned down to the filter. She put it out in the tray and walked back over to the microwave, pulling out the glass of steaming milk. She swept over to the herb cupboard and tapped a little bit of nutmeg into the glass, stirring it in with her finger. Sipping the liquid and suddenly catching sight of the clock, she finally realized how exhausted she really was. Laura chugged a quarter of the glass and walked back into the living room, settling down on the couch for what felt like the millionth time. Pulling her last blanket over herself, she drank the last of the milk and managed to close her eyes and keep them closed. Perhaps it was the knowledge that Sara was finally sleeping comfortably, no longer shivering, and that Laura had done her part in easing her daughter's nightmares.

* * *

_"Mom, I don't want to wear this stupid cast anymore…" Sara whined, brandishing it at the dinner table._

_"You know what the doctor said. Too bad." Laura was sitting next to Sara, quietly eating her dinner of beef tenderloin, green beans, and mashed potatoes._

_"Well I can't _do _anything with it!" She set her fork next to her mashed potatoes, then reached forward for her glass of milk. She grabbed it with one hand and struggled to pull it to her mouth._

_"That's what happens when you break a bone," Laura replied._

_Sara glowered at her over the top of her glass before it suddenly slipped from her right hand, splashing down her front, then falling to her lap, rolling to the floor, and finally shattering._

_"Oops."_

_Laura sighed angrily. "Sara!" She grabbed a fistful of napkins from the center of the table and thrust them at Sara, who had stood up and moved away from the mess. She swiped at herself as Laura grabbed more napkins and threw them on the floor._

_"Sara, don't…stop—stop moving, you don't have any shoes on."_

_"I'm sorry…"_

_"Yeah, I know. Go get a broom."_

_Sara scampered over to the closet on the far side of other side of the kitchen and pulled one out along with a dustpan. She handed it to her mother then stood back and watched._

_"Sara, go on. Go to your room. You've had enough supper," Laura snapped as she slaved over the spill._

_Without a word, Sara obeyed. She walked out of the kitchen, through the living room where her dad slept on the couch, up the stairs, and turned into her room. She flopped onto her bed and looked out her window, watching the night outside. Car lights showed up every once in awhile and all of her neighbors' houses were lit. She turned over on her covers and tapped her cast on the wall beside her. Tap, tap, tap. She wasn't sure when she drifted off, but when she woke up, she could only hear shouting from downstairs._

_"Allen, stop it! Stop! Allen!"_

_Sara's heart caught in her throat and her stomach squirmed horribly._

_"You think this is _my_ fault? _My fault_? It was _never_ my fault! No one could have seen that coming!"_

_"Allen! STOP!" Laura sobbed._

_She continued to plead, but Sara heard glass break and a scream. More glass, more screaming. Her dad was yelling over and over, the same things—it wasn't his fault. Sara could only wonder—his fault for what? Silence followed, and after a few long seconds, Sara could hear the clunk of crutches coming up the stairs. Quickly she pulled the covers over herself, trying to hide the fact that she was still in her clothes. She closed her eyes and tried to steady her racing lungs as her door opened. Her breathing sounded so loud in her chest she held her breath all together, not sure how to react to the figure of her father in the open doorway, watching her as she lay in her bed. He hobbled over to her, planted a soft peck on her head, then hobbled out again._

_Sara listened to him struggle down the stairs, and when he was at the bottom, she peeled the covers from herself and tiptoed out of her bed. She opened the door, walked down the hallway towards the stairs, and crept down them just far enough to see the scene in the living room below._

_Allen wasn't there and she assumed that he had gone to bed. The living room was a complete mess. The only working light source was the ceiling fan, spinning slowly and casting an eerie breeze on the scene. Laura lay crumpled in the middle of the floor, her own blood leaking from a gash in her arm and numerous scratches on her face. There had been two lamps in the room, one on each end-table next to each arm of the couch as well as Allen's recliner, but their broken remains littered the carpet around Laura as she suppressed a wail of pain, only letting tears escape. She had matted her shirtsleeve to stop the bleeding of her largest cut. The blood soaked through the yellow material as she lay there._

_"Momm—"_

_"Sara, I told you to go to your room!" Laura screeched in a small fit of hysterics, not opening her eyes or standing up. _

_Sara jumped at her words and scrambled back up the stairs, sprinting back to her room and diving under the covers. Apparently, Laura's words had also sparked her own flow of emotion and Sara could hear the start of her mother's wails. About a half hour later, she could hear the vacuum cleaner going and the cries were swamped by the noise. When it was turned off, she heard nothing. And then she fell asleep…

* * *

_

"Sara! _Sara!_ Sara, wake up, sweetie!"

"No, no! _Stop!"_

_"Sara!_"

Sara's eyes shot open and her thrashing body held still. She noticed confusedly that her blankets had been twisted around her, that her pillow had fallen to the floor, and that her mother and Will were crowded around her. 

"Honey, it's okay, you just had a bad dream, alright?" Laura said quietly. Her hands rested on each of Sara's shoulders.

Sara said nothing, only taking in deep gulps of air as she struggled to regain control of her shaking body. She nodded as best she could, and then lay back down. Her mother untwisted the blankets from around her and put them back on normally. She put the pillow back under Sara's head, then kissed her on the forehead. Will climbed back up to his bunk as Laura stood and left with a soft, "Goodnight Sara, Will."

After a few minutes of complete silence, Will spoke up from the top bunk.

"Sara!"

She hadn't closed her eyes since she woke up. She was too frightened. "What?" she replied.

"What was your dream about?"

"Nothing," Sara said automatically.

"Oh come on, you can tell me!" His head suddenly popped in upside down, looking at Sara. "What was it about? A dinosaur? A monster? Did you fall off a cliff?"

Sara turned over, away from him.

"I don't want to tell you."

Will frowned.

"I tell you about all of my dreams."

"You have good dreams," Sara retorted, pulling the blankets over her head.

"Hmmpf." Will pulled his head back, but then hopped off the bunk bed and to the floor, landing cat-style. He crept to the edge of Sara's bed, and pulled the covers off her a little bit. "You can tell me, you know. I won't tell anybody."

Sara turned and looked at him, her eyebrows furrowed suspiciously. "You promise?"

He held out his little finger. "Pinky swear."

* * *

**A/N: Maria couldn't get back to me for this chapter. All grammar mistakes are mine. :)**


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

**January 10, 1981**

Eggs and bacon sizzled noisily on the skillet as Laura poked at them with a spatula. The smell clung to her nose as she poked at the food, the steam curling up from the meal. She sprinkled salt and pepper evenly over the fried eggs, then flipped them over as she said, "Sara, be careful up there. We don't want you falling."

Sara was making slow, deliberate, steps as she crossed the countertop, grabbing onto cupboard handles for support. She put one foot in front of the other until she was in the middle of the counters, gripping tightly to two handles.

"Which one is it in, Mom?"

"The right one, way up high; can you get it?"

Sara nodded, standing on tiptoes and reaching to another row of smaller cupboards up above the main ones. Struggling slightly with the stuck door, she managed to pull it open, though she just barely kept her footing.

"The big silver one?"

"That's the one."

Sara reached up to the shelves and grabbed the ornate silver tray from the ledge, slowly easing it down to herself. Gripping the heavy object tightly with her left arm, she closed the smaller cupboard, then clutched the handle of the cupboard below her. Suddenly, across the room, the door to her parents' bedroom opened and Allen stepped out, dressed in business attire with a briefcase in his left hand.

"Going to work," he mumbled, turning to the backdoor.

"Dad, wait!" Sara cried.

He turned his head, one hand already on the doorknob. "Hmm?"

"I need a hug, kiss, and for you to help me down."

With a soft sigh, Allen let go of the knob and shuffled over to Sara. He took the tray from her and set it on the counter, grabbed her under the armpits, and let her down to the floor. He gave her quick hug and a peck on the cheek, and a mumble of the words 'I love you', before he turned and left. Sara leaned on the counter as their car started and drove away.

"Go get the china, please," Laura requested, speaking for the first time since Allen had entered the room.

Sara did as she was told, crossing into the dining room and heading to a cabinet on the far side of it. She opened it and slowly piled several items of china into her arms. She traveled back across the room and carefully arranged the objects on the silver tray.

"The toast popped up," Laura stated.

She wandered over to the toaster and pulled the browned bread out, setting them on the china. Laura set the fried eggs and bacon there as well before she poured two cups of coffee and two glasses of orange juice.

"Do we get to take it up now?" Sara asked, peeking at the food, the aroma making her mouth water, though she had already eaten.

"Yep. Carry the creamer for me, sweetie." Laura turned the stove off and grabbed both ends of the tray. Sara held onto the small pitcher of creamer and followed her mother out of the kitchen and up the stairs. They walked down the hallway to the very last doorway. Sara reached forward and knocked on the wood.

What sounded like a stampede came down the stairs and the door was thrust open. Two kids stood there, both with white blonde hair and thousands of freckles all over their faces. Both had ice blue eyes and small identical grins. The girl's name was Angela and she was about 7 years old. Her older brother, Brian, was 10 years old.

"Good morning!" Laura said, smiling widely. "We brought breakfast."

"Mom!" Angela yelled up the stairs to the rest of the room. "Mrs. Sidle brought breakfast!" She then turned to Laura and said, "Come on up."

Laura and Sara followed Brian and Angela up the stairs to the attic-turned-enormous-bedroom. Angela and Brian's parents sat on their king bed, watching television. Toys of Angela and Brian's were scattered on the floor—trucks, dolls, stuffed animals, coloring books, and army men. The family's two large suitcases were open on the far left of the room, by the closet and bathroom door. Their contents were sprinkled around the floor

"Here's your breakfast," Laura said to the parents with a smile. "If you need anything else, just say so."

"No, this is fine!" their mother said, taking the tray from Laura and setting it on the foot of the bed. The brother and sister gathered by the bed and each grabbed a glass of the orange juice, chugging it down quickly.

"Hey, Sara!" Angela said as Laura and Sara turned to leave.

"What?" Sara replied, one hand on the door.

"Do you want to go play outside after we finish breakfast?"

Sara looked up at Laura, who said, without a hint of apprehension, "Stay in the backyard."

* * *

"I think we should play hide-and-seek," Angela declared as she walked along the grass, Sara and Brian by her side.

"That's a baby game," Brian declared. He stopped in his tracks, hands in his pockets. Sara and Angela stopped too, turning to look at him as a breeze blew past. "I'll race you two to that tree."

"You _always_ race with people," Angela whined, though she had started to do some quick stretches. "Why do we always have race?"

"So people know I'm the fastest runner in the world," Brian stated. He grabbed a stick from the ground and drew a line in the dirt. "There's the starting line."

Sara quietly stood behind the line, and bent down like Brian and Angela had.

"On your marks," Brian began. "Get set…GO!"

All three of them took off, Brian sprinting out ahead of the two. Angela seemed to think she'd never make it and dropped back to a walk. But Sara had been taken by surprise at Brian's speed, and as she gained back her wits, she sped up and was soon neck and neck with him. The tree drew much closer, and with a final surge of energy, Sara pulled ahead of Brian and tagged the tree, just seconds before.

"I won!" Sara cried, bending double and panting, her hand still planted on the trunk.

"No you didn't," Brian said. "You lost."

"Did not. I touched the tree way before you!"

"No you didn't. You lost. I touched the tree first; you couldn't tell though because I touched the tree where you couldn't see."

Angela soon joined them and watched them argue.

"I saw Sara touch the tree first," she added as Brian opened his mouth.

"_I touched it first!_" Brian shouted, stomping his foot down.

"No you didn't," Sara and Angela responded in unison.

Angela then turned to Sara. "This is new. Usually he wins, but Mom always said there's a first for everything."

"I'm telling you, I _did_ win!"

Sara opened her mouth, snide comment already prepared, but Angela piped in for the second time.

"Rematch, then. We'll do it again. This time I'll stand by the tree to make sure there's no…umm…"

"Controversy?" Sara offered.

"Umm, yeah."

Sara and Brian stood at the starting line once again, watching Angela's arms as they were held straight above her head. Sara's chest pounded with anxiety. Even though she knew she had won fair-and-square the previous race, she was still fearful that this time she would lose, and what was worse, it would only prove Brian right.

Suddenly, Angela's arms dropped and the two flew down the yard again. Sara wasn't taken aback by Brian's burst of speed this time, and managed to stay parallel with him as they sprinted through the grass. Then suddenly Brian tripped and crumpled to the ground. Sara didn't take notice and smacked her hand victoriously on the tree trunk.

"Won again!" Sara cried, panting once more, and beaming.

Brian dusted himself off as he struggled to his feet. Angela high-fived Sara, but then caught sight of Brian's furious face as he stormed toward them.

"That doesn't count!" he yelled angrily. "I tripped! You wouldn't have won if I hadn't tripped!"

"Stop being a sore loser, Brian." Angela sneered.

"And I won that first time too!"

"Brian, knock it off," Sara said, shrugging. "It was just a race."

"I won though—you didn't. I can't lose to _you_."

Sara raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because you're a sissy girl, and you're younger than I am, so I should win every time."

"Yeah, so long as you don't trip," Angela muttered under her breath with a soft chuckle.

But Sara was bristling.

"I'm not a sissy."

"Yes you are. All girls are sissies. Girls suck."

"Do not," Angela and Sara said indignantly.

But Brian continued, "Yes you do, all girls are stupid, too, and slow. All things that begin with 's'. And you know what else begins with 's'? Sa—"

WHAM!

Sara tackled Brian around the waist, knocking the wind out of him and bringing him to the ground. Sitting on top of him while he tried to catch his breath, Sara pounded on his face with her fists, gathering blood from his nose on her fingers, but she kept punching away.

Before she could realize what was happening, somebody was pulling her off him, and somebody else was drawing Brian away from her.

Sara was still throwing punches, but they met nothing. She kicked her feet and struggled against whoever was holding her back, trying to throw herself back at Brian, whose nose continued to drip blood. But he had come back around enough to hurl more insults at Sara. Sara shouted more back, "Big, blundering, boy, Brian—"

The word she said next caused an uproar among the surrounding people, and Laura's voice broke Sara out of her tunnel vision.

"_Sara Jean! _Apologize to Brian _right now_!"

Sara's fighting limbs went slack and she realized it was her mother who gripped tightly to each arm. Her chest heaved heavily and she vaguely noticed the blood all over her hands and a dull ache in her knuckles. Brian's father was restraining him forcefully and his mother was trying to wipe the blood from his face.

"Sorry," Sara muttered tightly, through gritted teeth.

Brian spat on the ground and his father shook him as a warning, then turned and walked Brian and his wife back to the house.

Angela took a nervous look back at Sara as she followed her family. Her usual grin and self-confident persona was tuned way down, and she was frowning grimly.

As soon as they were gone, Laura turned Sara around to face her. She got down on one knee and gave Sara a short, rough shake.

"_What_ _do you think you were doing?_" she hissed.

Sara kept her mouth shut, her lips pressed firmly together as she stared back into her mother's eyes, her mind firmly set on not crying, though her eyes began to fill with tears.

"He said I was stupid."

Laura pursed her lips. "That's it?"

Sara shook her head and continued explaining all that had happened. Apparently, Laura didn't think it was enough of an excuse.

"You do _not_ hit people, do you understand? There is _no_ excuse for what you just did to that boy. You've only known him for one day; that family just checked in yesterday! You don't go around beating up the people who stay with us! More importantly, you don't beat _anybody _up, _ever_!"

Sara continued to glare, her body shaking as she settled down, though her nostrils were flaring.

"Dad does," she said simply, though it was muffled through her clenched teeth.

Laura glared back at Sara, as Sara's eyes finally overflowed. Laura sighed, and mumbled, "Let's get that blood washed off your hands." She stood up and gripped Sara's wrist, pulling her towards the house.

* * *

Sara woke up to find herself on the living room couch. Her hands had been washed, though her knuckles were very red and sore.

"Took you awhile to wake up," Laura said from beside her, leaning her head on her palm, her elbow resting on the couch arm and her legs crossed. "You really must have been hitting him hard."

Sara said nothing, but sat up and stretched.

"What time is it?" she questioned through a yawn.

"Nearly 6:00. Your dad should be home in a couple hours."

Sara set her hands on the edge of the couch and gazed at Laura, silently contemplating her mother's disheveled appearance.

"What happened to Brian?" Sara asked quietly.

"He's okay. You just gave him a lot of bruises and a bloody nose."

Sara frowned and looked at the floor, guilt creeping into her stomach like a poisonous slime.

"Are they going to leave?"

"Tonight is their last night anyway. Brian went out to the bay with his family for a hiking trip and then they're going out for dinner. Speaking of which, you haven't had any."

Sara sighed, standing up with Laura and walking to the kitchen. "I didn't mean to get that angry."

"I know you didn't." Laura reached around Sara's shoulders and gave her a one-armed hug. Sara wandered off to the dining room table and Laura headed to the stove. She shoveled spoonfuls of leftovers onto a plate she grabbed from a cupboard. Next, she poured a glass of milk, and brought both things over and set them in front of Sara. As she ate quietly, Laura spoke up, clearing her throat beforehand. "You know how…how you said Dad beats people up?"

Sara looked up at her expectantly.

"Well," she continued. "I think…I think, now is the time you need to start understanding some things about this family, okay?"

Sara nodded past her glass of milk and continued to listen intently.

"You remember some of the stories your father used to tell you about your grandpa being in the war?"

Sara nodded again.

"Well, your dad was born before your grandfather came back from overseas. Your grandfather was out at war until your father was four years old. Your grandmother was very young when she had your father—19 years old. She wasn't very experienced and only married your grandfather so she would have somebody to help her support the baby.

"What happened was, when Grandpa Sidle got back from the war, your father didn't like him very much. He'd never seen him before. Everybody told him this was his dad, and he could grasp that fact, but he never really liked him as a father. As your dad got older, you could tell he didn't really love Grandpa Sidle like everyone was saying he should. And your grandpa didn't like him either.

"Apparently, your grandfather didn't like the way that your father had been brought up by your inexperienced grandma. In order to get what he wanted, he would hit him for doing things he didn't like, or not doing things he thought he should do. There was one time he broke your father's collarbone, and when he came home from the hospital, your grandfather refused to feed him for two days. He died in 1965, you know that, and I'm personally very glad. If he had been alive when you were born, I wouldn't have let you go near him."

Laura let out a soft sigh and Sara set down her fork.

"Now, when your father and I married, he told me, that if he ever became like his father, to do whatever I could to get him to stop." She chuckled lightly. "Now, the problem is, your grandfather never hit his wife. Ever. Only his son. Your father—he has never laid a single finger on you. So am I supposed to tell him to stop?"

Sara's eyes narrowed musingly as she mulled over the statement. "But why does he hit? If he didn't like it when his dad hit him, why does he hit you?"

Laura heaved another sigh.

"I'm not exactly sure about that, Sara. One idea I've looked over is that maybe he doesn't know any other way to deal with his anger. When we were younger, he was a lot happier. He made a big effort to remain calm in situations that made him upset. But if you haven't noticed, ever since his new job, he's been pretty stressed and his effort towards staying calm have sort of…faltered. Another idea I've though of, is that maybe he feels he loves you too much to even think about touching you in a harmful way. Your grandfather never loved him, which is why he hurt him like he did. I think your dad loves you too much to do that."

"But that would mean—"

"Yes, that would mean that he doesn't love me anymore." She paused, smiling to keep from crying, then said in a thoughtful tone, her voice cracking midway through, "Do you remember what it was like before your father started hitting?"

Sara nodded, visions of the beach floating into her mind.

"Don't _ever _forget, okay?"

Sara blinked a few times in slight surprise, then whispered, "Okay."


	6. Chapter Five

**A/N: Sorry about the long wait everyone. Thanks for being so patient with me. It's the end of the school year and I couldn't write because I was cramming for my exams as well as finishing up last minute projects and homework and all that jazz. I hope you enjoy. I made up for the wait with the longest chapter yet. This is when you'll start seeing a lot more references to the actual show. :) Enjoy!

* * *

**

Chapter Five

**February 18, 1981**

The morning was quiet and still, the sun just barely peeking above the horizon. Sequoias and oaks reflected the sunlight in a red hue as they stood like British soldiers along the gravel road Sara and Allen drove every morning. Hills rolled into the distance and the scents and sounds of the ocean hung lightly in the air. The whistles of the cormorants mingled with the squawks of the crows, and Sara listened to the birds as they interrupted the silence she and her father sat in. But the sounds made it seem ever the more peaceful.

Their Chevy slowed to a halt at the stop sign, crunching on gravel and disrupting the calm around them. Sara sat in the backseat, her head leaning softly against the window and her backpack on her lap. Today she was in a light blue t-shirt and a pair of white shorts. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail and rested on her shoulders. Up front, Allen was in his business suit again, briefcase on the passenger seat beside him.

"Dad," Sara asked as the car started forward once more. "Is Mom going to be home from the hospital today?"

Allen replied gruffly, in a distracted tone. "Yeah, she will be. She's going to feel sore though, so you should give her some space."

Sara agreed to do so as Allen made a sudden right turn into her school parking lot.

The school was a small one, both in size and student body. There were only 200 or so students, from kindergarten to eighth grade. The building was a one-story building in the shape of an "L." There was no cafeteria—students were expected to eat in their classrooms or outside if the weather was nice, with their own bag lunches. The parking lot was shaped like a fan, the curved edge facing two ends of the road. One straight side faced the numerous picnic tables students sat at to eat, and the other faced the large playground.

The jungle gym, slides, monkey bars, and swings were all placed on a large square covered in gravel. Beyond the playground, there was a field of grass where older students played football and soccer. And beyond the field, there were trees that kids climbed and hid behind in hopes that the playground supervisors wouldn't find them.

Sara stepped out of the car and onto the grass. When she shut the door and waved, Allen drove off. She hoisted her backpack further onto her shoulder and walked off to the playground. Max Hall was out playing soccer with some other rowdy fifth-grade boys. A group of girls in Sara's grade sat on top of the monkey bars, sitting daintily like the princesses they thought themselves to be. The girls had started to talk about boys, except for Sara, who always kept to herself and rarely said anything if she wasn't in a classroom.

Sara sat down against the school building, setting her backpack on the ground beside her. She reached inside and pulled out a slightly tattered notebook and a pencil. Inside the notebook as she turned the page, was a long list of book titles, most of them with distinct checkmarks next to them. Sara took the pencil up and placed another mark next to the title Moby Dick.

She gazed at the page for a beat before a sigh escaped from her. The next book on the list was at the town library, and she wouldn't be able to go get it until after school. That meant math class would be spent with her dozing off as the teacher explained the same concepts over again, merely because most of the class couldn't figure out how to use a protractor. Then in language arts, Sara would again fail to write an imaginative short story.

Afterwards, Mr. Montgomery would read a dreary and boring book that Sara had already read two years earlier. Lunch would come, and Sara would sit alone at a picnic table, placidly watching other students crawling around on the playground and eating their lunches.

Finally after lunch, her favorite class of the day would come. Science. Recently they'd been working on a biome project. They were required to write down observations and diagrams of how the "Biome in a Bottle" worked together to provide life to all the insect specimens inside. Today they were going to release the creatures, and Sara was looking forward to it. The project had been enjoyable for her. She had relished the chance to satisfy some of her curiosity about certain insects and plants.

The school bell suddenly rang, and the supervisors blew their whistles to alert the students. Sara stood and, with the weight of a boring day ahead, began walking into the school building. A stampede of students ran behind her, and one seventh grader suddenly knocked her roughly against the wall of the building, without looking back. Sara rubbed her elbow, simmering noiselessly as she glared after the boy. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

"Now, remember," Mr. Montgomery drawled, gesturing at the chalkboard. "When you draw a right angle, you need to put that little square to show that it is a right angle."

Sara's head sat in her cupped hand as she stared straight ahead. Her math booklet was open in front of her, and she had successfully completed the page they were supposed to do in class that day as her teacher explained and explained again. She understood everything completely, and was becoming exasperated at the fact that the rest of the class failed to realize it.

She stared down at her paper as Mr. Montgomery continued. Her pencil was held loosely in her right hand and she slowly began to make little swirls in the booklet.

"Mr. Montgomery, how do you use a protractor again?" Meghan Berg asked, though she was more interested in how many times she could wrap a strand of hair around her pencil.

_Good God, _Sara thought to herself, trying to hold in a soft chuckle. _How could people be so stupid? _

Mr. Montgomery sighed, and ordered the class to pull out a blank sheet of paper. Sara did so, snapping out of her stupor to obey the nonnegotiable commands of a teacher. After the first example, Sara realized she already knew how to do it. Sighing, she flipped the page over. She doodled more swirls on the page, and before she knew it, she was thinking about the book she had just finished last night. The swirls turned into waves, and the waves soon merged with the back of a whale.

Five minutes later, the picture was complete, and Mr. Montgomery had finished talking about the use of protractors for the third time that week. He was now walking in front of the rows and handing sheets to the first person to pass back down the rows. When Sally Baker turned around with the sheets, she saw the sketch Sara had drawn and grimaced.

"What is _that_?"

Sara looked up from the sheet she had been given to the expression on Sally's face. Instantly her cheeks reddened and her stomach squirmed.

"It's just…just a doodle…"

"Doodle?" Sally repeated skeptically.

Sara hesitated to reply, and was saved from the trouble when Mr. Montgomery spoke.

"Sally, turn around," he commanded.

The girl rolled her eyes and faced the front of the classroom, but Sara couldn't help but fear the contents of a note Sally passed to Meghan a few minutes later. Her insides gave a particularly painful lurch when the girls struggled to hold back a fit of giggles, and were scolded by Mr. Montgomery.

Soon the bell that signaled the end of class rang, and the students headed out to their lockers. Sara opened her own and piled in her math binder and book. The picture she had drawn sat on the top of these materials and Sara stared it down before she grabbed it and, after crumpling it up, threw it in a trashcan. She snatched her things for language arts out of her locker and with a sigh, slammed the door to it.

On the way back to her classroom, she failed to notice Meghan and Sally sneaking over to the trash. They argued silently over who would reach inside, and with an annoyed eye-roll, Sally reached inside and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper.

* * *

Sara sat alone at a picnic table, her lunch spread out on the table in front of her, looking less than appetizing; a bruised apple, a bag of carrot sticks, and a soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She assumed Allen had been in a rush that morning and hadn't bothered to make sure she would actually eat her lunch.

Most of the other students had already wolfed down their lunches and were now swarming over the playground equipment. Sara watched them lightly as she nibbled halfheartedly on a carrot stick. She didn't hear the pair coming up behind her.

"Hey, Psych Ward."

Sara raised an eyebrow and turned around to see Meghan and Sally standing there, grinning evilly. When she saw who it was she retorted, "I'm surprised you even know that word. It's too bad you don't know how to use it yet."

"Ha, ha," Meghan replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

Sara kept eye contact, and asked, "What are you doing here?"

"We want to see how crazy you really are," Sally answered, smiling.

Sara sighed. "Well I'm afraid my mental state isn't that interesting. I'm not crazy at all."

"That's not what this picture says." Meghan held up the once crumpled piece of paper, now flattened, to Sara's face.

Sara blushed and suddenly felt a wave of awkwardness sweep into her stomach.

"I threw that away," she said quietly, reaching out to snatch it from Meghan, who pulled it out of her grasp.

"I wonder why…" Sally said sarcastically.

"Give it back."

"No, I don't think I will. I still have to show it to the rest of the class, you know." Meghan's tone of voice grated on Sara with every syllable.

"I don't see why something I drew makes me crazy," Sara muttered.

"Well, if you bothered to take a proper look at it, you would see that it's a whale. It's dead. It has a harpoon sticking out of its side. It's covered in blood. Does that sound like a normal drawing to you, Sally?"

The other girl shook her head, making small 'tsking' noises at Sara.

"Well," Meghan said as if she had just concluded important business. "I'm going to go show this around now, alright? Later, loser." She and Sally burst out in quiet snickers as they walked away, leaving Sara to sit there, simmering.

Sara watched them go for a few moments. The two of them walked off to talk to a couple of boys Sara knew, and they showed the picture to them. Sara was finding it harder and harder to restrain herself as the two showed it to more people. Finally, the two approached Max Hall, and Sara couldn't hold it in anymore. She stood up and stormed over to them.

"Give it back, right now," Sara said tightly, her teeth grit.

"Umm, didn't we already settle this?" Meghan said snobbishly. "No."

"Give it to me. Now."

Max looked at Sara uneasily as she glowered at Meghan and Sally, who were certainly not taking her seriously.

Meghan rolled her eyes and turned back to Max who slowly tore his eyes away from Sara's infuriated face. Meghan opened her mouth to speak, lifting the picture, but before she could, Sara swung out her leg and kicked the girl as hard as she could in the shin.

Meghan collapsed to the ground with a cry, and Sara stood there, trying to restrain her anger further. A year or so ago her mother had said never to hit people. So technically, she wasn't disobeying, right?

Meghan lay curled up on the ground, writhing in pain, clutching her lower leg. Sara grabbed the piece of paper on the grass that she had dropped and tore it up, tears burning her eyes. Suddenly, Sally leapt at her, grabbing her ponytail and bringing her to the ground. Sara struggled to fight back, unable to turn around and get off the grass because of the hold Sally had on her.

The next thing she knew, Max had launched himself at Sally, bringing her off of Sara. Sally scratched at his face and he simply held her down to the ground to prevent more damage to Sara. Sara staggered to her feet, but was knocked down again by a well-placed kick from Meghan. When she opened her watering eyes after landing, she saw a playground supervisor standing over her.

Sara felt fear climb into her stomach and she scrambled to stand, ignoring the pain shooting from her back and the throbbing in the back of her head where her hair had been pulled. She gulped down air and stood in front of the supervisor, looking only at the ground.

"Office, now," the woman ordered, not looking just at Sara, but at Meghan, Sally, and Max as well.

* * *

The sky was a gloomy gray when Sara got off the bus that afternoon. No weather could fit her mood better. She was old enough to walk home by herself now, and she began to do so, slowly trudging down Aberdeen. Her head still ached and her knees burned from when Sally tackled her to the ground.

Max suddenly walked up beside her, not saying a word. Sara mumbled a greeting to him, not making eye contact. They walked silently at first, but when they reached the row of stores, Max spoke up for the first time.

"That was sweet."

Sara looked up at him.

"What was?"

"When you kicked Meghan. That was sweet." He turned his permanent smirk towards her. "Totally cool."

Sara sighed. "I wish I hadn't."

"It was still sweet."

Sara chuckled despite herself. "I'm sorry I got you in trouble."

"You think I was just going to stand there while they beat you up?"

"They weren't going to beat me up," Sara defended.

"Yeah? Well you were doing a pretty good job of pounding Sally while she pulled your hair. Real good."

Sara didn't miss the sarcasm in his voice as she watched him. She noticed with a pang of guilt that his bottom lip was swollen and cut and he had long scratches down his face.

"What?" Max asked her, noticing she was staring at him.

"She scratched you good," Sara whispered.

"It only ticked me off because I couldn't get her back. I could only hold her down. Dad would kill me if I hit her."

"I'm scared of what my dad's going to do when he comes home…" Sara mumbled, looking at her feet as they stopped at the corner where they separated.

"Nah, he's cool. You won't get in too much trouble."

Sara shrugged, her stomach twisting. The principal had called their parents, and had caught her father at work. Sara knew he would be coming home angry. She wasn't sure how that was going to turn out, but she could take a good guess. It only made her feel worse though, since her mother had just gotten home from the hospital.

"I'll see you later, Max," Sara said quietly as she began to walk away.

"Yeah! Later, Psych Ward!"

* * *

Sara lay under the covers of her bed, curling up in a warm ball on the cool night, staring out at the softly pattering rain. Her bedside light was on and a book was open on the pillows beside her. She remembered only after she returned home that she was supposed to go pick up her book at the library. She was reading it now, but her mind was distracted.

Her father was late. Very late. It was nearing midnight, and she was growing increasingly nervous with each passing minute. Laura was sleeping on the couch downstairs and had been ever since Sara returned home. Sara knew it was from the painkillers she was taking. They always made her drowsy.

Sara turned the page, and glanced out the window as she did so. No cars. Another page turned a minute later, and she looked out again. No cars. It went on like this for what seemed like forever and as one o' clock neared, Sara drifted off.

Shouting. Lots of loud shouting from the first floor. Sara's eyes shot open, and as soon as she registered what was happening, she wished she hadn't. She noted that her bedside lamp was still on and she reached out and turned it off before pulling a pillow over her ears. This time it was her fault they were arguing. It was all her fault this time, and nobody could tell her otherwise because it wouldn't be true. A tear squeezed out of the side of her eye and she angrily ignored it.

She was intent on blocking out the words of the argument, but failed as her name was brought up.

"_Sara needs to make friends!_" she heard her dad shout.

"_And I suppose that buying her a pet will help her with that?_"

Sara blinked, her grip going slack on the pillow clamped over her head. Pet? She sat up in bed, and gingerly made her way over to the door. She twisted the knob open a crack and continued to listen.

"_She'll take him for walks. It'll get her out of the house, and everybody loves dogs! They'll stop to talk to her!"_

_"But what about the guests?_" her mother pleaded.

_"Screw them! Sara is more important than the comfort of the damn B&B guests!_"

Among the shouts, Sara could hear the yipping of something she could only assume was a dog. She left her room and tiptoed down the hallway to the stairway. She slowly made her way down them until she could see the scene below. Her mother was lying on the couch, a bottle of wine on the table beside her, next to an already used glass. Allen was standing at the door, with a blue leash in his hand. Sara followed the lead to a little brown puppy beside his feet.

"Dad?" she said nervously. "Are you mad at me?"

Allen and Laura turned their gazes to the stairs and Sara. The puppy looked up and as soon as he saw her, he stood and began to wag his little tail.

"Sara, what are you doing up?" Laura inquired in an irritated voice.

"I woke up when Dad came home," Sara explained quietly, clutching the stair railing as she looked down at them all.

Allen was reaching down to the lead tied to puppy's neck, and when he undid it, the chocolate lab rushed straight for Sara. It managed to get its tiny legs over the stairs and clamber up to Sara's bare feet. He sniffed her for what seemed like ten minutes before leaping up to her eagerly, his little tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.

"Sara, let's go upstairs," Allen said, taking off his leather jacket and putting it on an armchair.

Sara's stomach squirmed, unsure of what was going to happen. As she turned to go upstairs, the little dog followed her, yipping at her heels. She struggled to make it to her room without tripping, and when she sat on her bed, the puppy hopped on with her. Allen stood in the doorway, watching Sara as she apprehensively scratched the dog behind its ears.

She looked up at him, gulping down more nerves.

"Umm…are—are you mad at me?" she asked, pulling her knees up to her chest as the puppy continued to pounce all over her.

Allen breathed out a sigh through his nose and meandered over to the bed. He sat down on the edge and let out another whoosh of air. The puppy galloped over to him and sat in his lap, licking his face.

"I'm not mad at you."

Sara set her head on her knees and wrapped her arms around them, staring at the puppy.

"I'm just disappointed that you would sink that low."

Her eyes fleeted the floor. Disappointment was worse than anger.

"Can I at least tell you my side in it?" Sara mumbled.

"No. It wouldn't matter, because it was still wrong." He looked at her sternly.

Sara agreed with a small nod. She paused, before she asked the question she'd been wondering for the past few minutes. "Why did you get a dog?" she asked softly, reaching out and petting the animal.

"Because I thought it would be good for you."

"Why?"

The puppy tilted its head at Sara, its eyes big with curiosity.

"Because you'll have to take him for a walk every day."

"Exercise?" Sara said incredulously. "I don't exactly need it…"

Allen sighed and scooted closer to Sara, slipping his shoes off onto the floor.

"So you can go out and meet people. You aren't going to make any friends just staying at home."

"I have friends," Sara defended, watching Allen as he adjusted Sara's pillow and set his head on it.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

Sara hesitated, trying to think of somebody. There were the kids that came to the B&B, but they never stayed long and never contacted her after they left. "Max Hall," Sara said quietly, laying her head down next to his.

Allen raised an eyebrow incredulously.

"Max?"

Sara nodded. "He helped me fight off Sally today."

"He's a bad influence," Allen stated sternly.

"He's nice and funny," Sara retorted.

"I don't want you to talk to him."

"But he's the only friend I have!" Sara cried.

"That's what the dog is for."

Sara glared at him, though she looked away after a while, realizing she was being ridiculous. Max wasn't really her friend. He helped her out of a sticky situation. That was all.

"What's the puppy's name?" Sara inquired through a yawn, pulling the blankets over herself as she lay down.

"You get to name him."

Sara looked at the puppy that had abandoned the bed to sniff around her room.

"His name is…umm…" She struggled to come up with a name. She'd never had to _name_ anything before. "Max."

Allen sighed, with the beginnings of a scolding imminent by the way he tensed.

"You said I could name him," Sara replied, looking at the little dog.

"Max it is, then," Allen said, closing his eyes, his head still resting on the soft pillow.

Sara looked at Max. The puppy looked at her with his head tilted again, his big brown eyes matching her own.

"Come here, Max," she whispered, patting the mattress.

He stood and wagged his tail, trotting over to her and hopping onto the bed beside her and Allen. Sara turned her face towards her father's, and Max wiggled his little body in between the two of them. She pet his head softly, her eyes heavy with needed sleep.

Laura stood quietly at the door to Sara's bedroom as her daughter fell asleep with her new dog and her father by her side. Laura sighed heavily, letting out a small smile as Max yawned and set his little head on Sara's slack hand. Things weren't all that bad sometimes, she supposed.


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

**March 23, 1982**

"_Sara!_ Get that dog out of here!" Laura shouted in a pained whine, pushing the dog's cold nose away from her face. She was lying on the living room couch, pillow under her head, and blanket over her body. A small splattering of vomit lay on the floor, but Laura wasn't bothering to clean it up, despite the fact it was her own.

Sara came down the stairs promptly, dressed in jeans, a purple jacket, and a white baseball cap. A fully-grown Max was fervently sniffing her mother's face as the woman tried to bat him away. His brown tail was wagging vigorously, as if he were enjoying the annoyance he was causing.

"Max!" Sara snapped, the lab turning to her immediately. "Outside."

Max ran to the front door and Sara followed him. As she opened it, her mother spoke in a quiet and drained voice.

"Sara, I'm going to make a phone call, okay? I'm going to need some help keeping up with everything today."

"Okay," Sara replied, stepping out to the cool, yet sunny morning. She walked over to the first step on the porch and sat down, setting her head on her knees. Max had proceeded to the far corner of the yard to snatch up a dirty and partially mangled tennis ball. He trotted over to Sara with it in his mouth and dropped it promptly at her feet.

"Not now, Max," Sara muttered, patting him gently on the head. "Dad's coming soon to take me fishing."

Max refused to hear her and let out a sharp bark, wagging his tail. He pawed at her feet with another whine of frustration and more barks. Sara cringed at the noise. She knew it would wake the guests sleeping on the third floor, and she also knew her mother would raise hell about it if she didn't silence the dog.

She picked the slimy ball up from the bottom of the stairs and tossed it across the yard. Max charged after it immediately and gnawed on the fabric for a little while before bringing it back to Sara. She threw it again. They proceeded like this for several minutes as Sara kept an eager eye out for her father's Chevy.

Suddenly Sara spotted a figure walking down the sidewalk. Max flopped under a hydrangea bush from exhaustion as she squinted to get a better look and noted that it was Steve Hall, Max Hall's dad.

"Come here, boy," Sara called to her dog, clapping her hands. He perked up from where he was resting. He stood and trudged over to her, flopping down on the stair beside her as she gripped his collar to prevent him from running at Mr. Hall.

"Morning, Sara!" he called pleasantly, tipping his hat and waving. He turned and stepped up the path towards them and Sara struggled to contain Max as he squirmed.

"Good morning," she replied. "You need me to get my mom or something?" She refrained from asking what he was doing there. She assumed he had been the person her mother had called for assistance. She and her dad had been excited about the fishing trip for a week now, but her mother had had the flu for the third time that month, and thus needed help with running the B&B.

"No, no," Mr. Hall said shortly, waving her off. "That's okay. You stay out here and wait for your dad. I'll just go right in."

Max managed to pull himself out of Sara's grip as Mr. Hall walked past and the dog proceeded to leap all over the man.

"Max, sit!" Sara cried.

"Max, huh?" Mr. Hall said, patting him on the head. "I've seen you out here with him for a year now and I never got around to knowing his name. Wouldn't have anything to do with my son, now, would it?"

Sara shrugged. "I wasn't feeling very creative and Max suits him, I think." She latched back onto the dog's collar and gestured for Mr. Hall to proceed into the house.

* * *

Awhile after Mr. Hall first arrived—quite awhile afterward—Allen's Chevy finally backed into the driveway. Sara stood, Max stretching beside her, giving his tail one expectant wag.

"Sorry I'm late, Sara," Allen told her as he stepped out of the vehicle. "Got a little distracted on the way to the grocery store." He winked and Sara was suddenly filled with curiosity.

"What?" she asked, trying to hold back an impending smile.

"Look in the back seat," Allen prompted, raising an eyebrow and pursing his lips in an overly sneaky way.

Sara scrambled past him and looked into the back. There was a brand new fishing pole and a bright and shiny tackle box.

"Is that for me?" she asked eagerly.

"The one and only."

"Cool!" Sara reached for the box and opened it, examining the little lures inside.

"While you're looking at that, I'm going to go inside and grab my hat, alright?"

Sara nodded as she climbed out of the car with both new items in hand.

"Keep Max away from the hooks," Allen warned, and Sara agreed to do so.

A few minutes after Allen entered the house, Sara heard a sudden shout, causing her to glance up at the house. She felt her heart leap into her throat, an uneasy feeling hanging with her as she let her grip on the fishing pole go slack. Max looked up as well, making a soft grunt and letting out a bark.

"Shush, Max," Sara ordered, placing everything back in the box and setting the pole on the grass.

"_Get out of my house, Hall! OUT!"_

The shouts came closer to the front door and Sara saw the silhouettes of people beyond the curtain over the window in the door.

"Alright, alright. Don't get your undies in a bunch, Sidle. I'm going. I was just giving your wife a hand with the—"

"OUT!" Allen roared, and Sara jumped at the outburst.

The front door was pushed so forcefully open, it banged against the siding of the house. Mr. Hall stumbled out and Allen showed up in the doorway after him, spitting a line of curses with fury in his eyes. The feebler man jogged out of the yard, throwing not a glance in Sara's direction, but instead turning tail down the street towards his own home.

Sara's jaw was hanging open and she felt herself suddenly ashamed as she noted that several neighbors were peeking out of their windows, the guests on the third floor included. She could hear them muttering quietly amongst themselves, and Sara quietly crept into the car, pulling her belongings with her. Max followed, setting his head in her lap.

She knew what was coming next, or at least soon, and it made her stomach twist. Allen would make sure that everyone was done staring, that the guests had settled and dismissed it as a one-time-thing, and that he could do it without being discovered before proceeding.

The worst he had done in the past year was flip a boiling pot of water over on Laura as she cooked. Sara struggled to remember the reason, because nobody explained it to her. Allen had told her '_Mom slipped and had an accident_,' as if she was two years old, but Sara knew there was another motive behind it.

She could only imagine what he was going to do to her now. Sara had spotted a wine glass on the end table as she went outside that morning. Would he cut her with that, maybe? Or maybe he would take her face and rub it in what she had thrown up earlier, then step on the side of her head and give her a few kicks. Perhaps he would just go with his usual way of doing things, when other opportunities didn't present themselves—maybe he would just punch her in the stomach until she couldn't stand. Nobody would see anything.

Sara sighed and waited in the car for several more minutes until Allen finally stormed out of the house, his pursed lips not signaling a silly sneakiness, but a fury that he had more than likely just expelled. Allen stomped over to the garage, dragged out their little boat and pulled it to the back of the car. He spent five minutes hooking it up and double-checking that everything was there before he entered the driver's side door.

"The dog isn't coming," Allen muttered tightly.

"But he wan—"

"Get that damn dog out of the car, now, Sara." He raised his voice enough to make Sara act without response. She thrust open her door and pushed Max out. It pained her to leave him there as she shut the door again, gazing into his eyes. For some reason they always seemed to be sad. The dog sat on the grass with a sigh as Allen drove away, the boat rattling after them. They rode in silence before Sara spoke, hoping he had calmed down at least a little bit.

"What did you do this time?" she questioned innocently, looking out the window at the other houses.

"What do you mean?" Allen snapped, making a right turn.

"How did you hurt Mom this time?" she asked, quieter this time as if she knew it was the wrong question to ask.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Like, a month ago you spilled the water on her—"

"Sara," Allen interjected, but she continued on.

"And then before that you gave her a bloody face—"

"Sara!"

"And before that you—"

"Sara,_ shut up, already_!" he yelled.

When she closed her mouth, she felt as if her stomach had leapt up to where her heart should have been, a dull ache lying at the back of her throat. She kept completely quiet for the next few minutes as they drove, giving Allen some more time. Her eyes didn't blink, but she fiddled with her nails for a little while.

"Why do you hate Mr. Hall?"

"_Damnit_, Sara, can't you just be quiet for one car ride?" he snapped angrily, pressing a little too quickly on his brakes and causing the car behind them to honk reproachfully.

Her mouth snapped shut again, and she kept it that way for the rest of the trip to the pier. Her facial expression had remained exactly the same throughout her entire, short-lived interrogation. Her eyes stayed wide open, staring ahead, as if in a trance, though they were really open that way so she could avoid crying. She didn't like crying, let alone in front of Allen. The shame she felt earlier was still pressing on her and she did her best to hold it back.

Allen stopped the car and Sara got out with him.

"You know what to do," Allen mumbled, handing Sara the rope tied to the front end of the boat. Sara ambled out to the dock as Allen backed the boat slowly into the water. As it began to float, Sara pulled tightly on the rope and tied it to a pole, the side of the boat right next to the dock. Allen stopped the car and unhooked the boat from the trailer, letting it float freely. He then got back in the car and pulled the trailer out of the water.

Sara waited patiently for him to return from parking, kicking a rock into the water and watching the ripples it made. Allen came back from the car, carrying Sara's pole and tackle box. He set them in the boat and got in himself, holding out a hand to help Sara inside as well. As he worked at starting the motor, Sara untied the rope from the pole. She sat down in the front of the faded green boat, Allen in back with the motor. Soon, they were off, splashing through the waves.

The bay was a peaceful place, and Sara almost felt guilty for interrupting it with the loud motor. On one side, a large cliff raised maybe 30 or 40 feet above the water. Several other boats were out on the bay, and Sara squinted at them past the steady spray flying up from underneath the boat as they flew across the waves.

After a quick ride around, during which Sara nearly lost her hat, Allen slowed the boat down and drifted over to their favorite fishing location. It was off to the left side of the bay, quite a ways from the pier, and in the shadow of the cliff.

"Do you want to cast first or do you just want to bait 'em?" he asked her as she looked out at the nappy green waters.

"I'll cast," she replied, turning her head to him before rummaging in her new tackle box and pulling out a lure.

He took it from her and attached it to the hook on her pole. Sara cast out the lure and slowly reeled in as Allen attached his own lure to his own fishing pole. They fished silently for a while, though Allen offered up spare tips here and there for Sara. After about half an hour, Sara asked if she could have a worm, which Allen placed on the end of her hook. She lowered it into the water, sat and waited while Allen continued to cast.

"Your mother is fine," Allen suddenly said, causing Sara to look up.

Sara said nothing in return, only looked at him blankly.

"She was going to sleep on the couch, last time I saw her."

"She's got the flu," Sara stated softly. "She's tired."

To her surprise, Allen let out a chuckle, casting the line again.

"She doesn't have the flu," he muttered, almost to himself.

"Yes she does," Sara said, with a hint of hesitation.

"No, she has a hangover."

Sara raised an eyebrow, incredulously.

"It means that she drank too much last night so she feels like hell this morning."

Sara looked away from him as she took in the information.

"Your mother is an alcoholic, believe it or not, Sara," Allen said quietly, reeling in.

"What does that mean?"

"It means she drinks too much."

Sara pulled up her worm to look at its limp form. Part of it had been nibbled off, and she felt slightly hopeful that she would get at least one fish this time around.

"Your mom isn't perfect," Allen said quietly. "There's a lot about her and her side of the family that you don't know."

Sara took a side-glance his way. "Like what?" she questioned.

"Like how she was into drugs when I first met her." Allen suddenly pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tapped one out. "She was messed up. Your grandparents didn't know, but it was her younger brother that got her into it. We met through drugs, believe it or not, Sara. Messed us both up pretty good."

He lit up and breathed in greedily.

"But, one day," he continued, blowing the blue-gray smoke from the corner of his mouth. "Your mom managed to get herself to stop breathing. I got her to the hospital. We both made a pact that day that we would never do drugs again. One year later, we got married and you came along." He tapped the cigarette on his seat and took another drag.

"Your grandparents—they didn't know that she had a problem. They knew I had a problem, and that their son had a problem, but their little girl would never, _ever_ do something like drugs. Maybe her fiancé would, maybe her brother Donald would, but not our little girl."

He laughed bitterly before continuing on. "I think you're getting to the age now where you're going to have an easier time understanding these sorts of things. Your family has a history of addictive behavior. You need to be aware of that so you can protect yourself from becoming an addict, an alcoholic, or a chain smoker."

He gestured at her with the cigarette before putting it out in a small bucket filled with water in the back of the boat.

"Now, about your question against Steve," Allen continued. "He went out with your mother for three years in high school. Your mom cheated on him with me, and Hall found out. He came to our wedding. He visited when you were born. I told him off every time. He didn't hang around much more since we saw him after you were born. He had Max to worry about and his two other boys. He's shown up a couple times since then—do you remember the time he walked you home?"

Sara nodded. "So you're jealous of him?"

"Not jealous. I'm wary. I don't like it when he's around. There's almost nothing I fear worse than Laura getting into an affair."

"What's that?" Sara asked.

"It's when somebody who's married falls in love with somebody else," he explained.

Sara pondered this for a moment. If he didn't love Laura anymore, why would he care if she loved somebody else? But then the thought hit her. Maybe he feared that Laura would tell about how he hurt her. Maybe it wasn't about jealousy at all, but protecting his own image. Though, Sara figured, he had already done some damage by gathering all the neighbors' attention that morning.

The conversation flat-lined after that, both of them falling into silence for another half hour. Sara wished angrily that she had brought a book along. She had forgotten how boring fishing could be. Suddenly Allen stood up, slightly tipping the boat. He was reeling in fast.

"I got something!" he shouted. "Grab the net, Sara!"

Sara set her pole down and snatched up the green net from the floor of the boat. She held it over the edge as Allen continued to reel in as fast as he could. Soon a medium-sized fish flopped to the surface of the water, and Sara proceeded to sweep it up into the net.

"Good girl," Allen grunted, setting his pole down and taking the net from her. "That's my girl." He was breathing heavily, a smile pulling at the sides of his mouth.

The fish was flopping around inside the net, though Sara couldn't get a good look at it past the netting.

"Have a seat, Sara, we don't want to turn the boat."

Sara obeyed and set herself down, watching as Allen pulled the fish from the net.

"Got him in the gills," he stated, gripping the fish and reaching in to pull out the hook. Sara suddenly saw blood spill from the fish's gills and felt a pang of guilt. It was flopping around in pain, its eyes wide as quarters, its gills flapping erratically.

"Dad, are you going to let it go?" she asked quietly.

He looked up at her as he continued to maneuver the hook.

"What are you talking about? This is dinner tonight, remember? Fish fry."

"But look at him." She gestured at the fish's bulging eyes and bleeding gills, its softly thrashing tail and its gasping mouth.

"Sara, it's going to die now anyway," Allen pointed out as he finally managed to get the end of the line.

Sara sighed, gazing guiltily at the fish as her father placed it into the compartment full of water in the middle of the boat.

"Can we go home?" Sara asked pitifully. "I don't want to fish anymore."

"You're done?"

Sara nodded, reeling in her pole to find that her worm had been completely eaten off the end but not feeling a hint of remorse about it. She was glad she hadn't caught anything.

Allen started the boat again and the started off towards the pier.

"Hey, Sara," he said softly, as the motor whirred.

"Hmm?" she replied, turning back to look at him.

"Don't tell your mother I told you all that stuff, alright? She wouldn't like it."

"Okay."

"And you would tell me, right?"

Sara raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

"If you ever saw Mr. Hall and your mother doing anything you didn't think they were supposed to, right?"

Sara gazed at him, before replying with a quick nod.

"That's my girl."


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

**April 15, 1983**

The water frothed and hissed as it met land, curling up into itself as if the sand had burned its groping fingers. Always moving, it retreated and pulled, thenmoved forth in a rushing push. It was as if it couldn't make up its mind, couldn't decide on which direction it should flow.

Sara found herself frustrated in the same manner, sitting there on the sand, just out of reach of the water. Her legs were crossed, and her face was tear-stained, from frustrations she couldn't hold in any longer. She felt like a traitor. She felt like a double-crosser. The secret was eating her. She could feel physical pain as the weight of what she had seen pulled on her, and she could do nothing but cry.

Max the dog laid his chocolate head on her knee, sighing through his nose. Sara had exhausted him earlier with a grueling game of ball. The mangled, slimy tennis ball now lay forgotten on the sand. Sara had broken down towards the end of their game, unable to keep the large tears from rolling down her face. So she had sat down on the sand and sobbed, long and hard.

It was funny, but she felt as if Max could almost understand her feelings. He wasn't barking, or howling, or even drooling on her pant leg, as he loved to do. Her sobs had ended a while ago, though the tears were stilling squeezing through occasionally. She rubbed Max's warm, slightly damp head. She was trying to press the memory from her mind. Trying to push _Him _from her mind. Why did he have to come into the picture? Why did he have to ruin everything? Why couldn't he just leave her mother alone?

Sara buried her face in her hands again. Trying not to think about it only brought everything closer to the surface. And there were more whys. Why couldn't she bring herself to tell somebody? Why was she breaking her promise? She was half-sure she had an answer to that. If her father found out, things would take a horrible turn for the worse. She couldn't bring herself to be the cause for whatever damage was done. And then, of course, there were her mother's words after he had left.

_"Baby, you know your father's doing the exact same thing."_

The idea that it wasn't only her mother having an affair was also painful. She hated hypocrites. She never said anything to her father when he was being one, because it was impossible to negotiate things with him, but when he told her it wasn't good to hurt people, she couldn't help but become slightly angered. And her father had been frightened of her mother having an affair, when it was perfectly plausible that he was having one too.

Sara pulled her head up and looked at the sun as it continued to set slowly. She needed to be getting home, before it was too dark, but she really didn't want to. She would give anything not to. With a deep breath, she wiped her face with the backs of her wet hands, trying to compose herself before the walk home. As she stood, Max perked up, but she soon realized it was not because she had moved.

She turned her head and saw Max Hall walking towards her. The chocolate lab barked, and before Sara could grip his collar, he had taken off, straight at the boy.

"Hey, buddy!" Max exclaimed, scratching the dog behind its ears as he leapt all over him.

"Hi, Max…" Sara said softly, now even more self-conscious about her wet face, red and puffy eyes, and stuffy nose.

"Hi," he replied, just as quietly. His smirk was softened as they stood there looking at each other. She could have sworn he had almost frowned, except for that one corner of his mouth.

"I was j-just going to head…home…"

"He's still there," Max nearly whispered.

Sara responded by looking at the ground.

"Have you been crying?" Max questioned.

She was surprised at the softness in his voice. Sara had always taken him for an immature little boy, who felt no compassion for other people. Never had she expected him to be concerned about what she did or didn't do.

"No," she sniffed, trying to rub the tears from her face again.

"You're not very good at lying," Max noted, the dog flopping to the ground at the boy's feet.

"It's nothing," Sara muttered, waving at him through another sniffle.

"It's not easy for me either, if that means anything. I don't like that my dad is doing something like that."

Sara held back a chuckle. Max would never know how badly it was affecting her, though she supposed what he said was true. It must be bothering him too.

"I'll walk home with you, if you want," Max offered. "I don't think your dog would want to leave if I stayed here anyway."

Sara agreed silently, walking forward and falling into stride with Max. The dog followed after them, his ball forgotten as the two kids walked away from the bay.

"Are your parents happy together?" Max inquired as they walked along the sidewalk, the sky becoming increasingly darker.

Sara shrugged. She knew they weren't, but their relationship together was so confusing, she couldn't quite put her finger on how they felt about each other. "They're still married, aren't they?" Sara answered.

They were quiet again, her dog plodding along behind her, panting faintly. "What ever happened to your mom?" Sara suddenly asked. For as long as she had known Max Hall, she had always wondered about his situation. She figured now was as good a time as any to bring up the subject. Their relationship had grown over the past year, almost as a parallel to Steve Hall and Laura's affair. There hadn't been any talks like this one; they mainly just went to the beach together.

Max stuffed his hands in his pockets and his pace sped up slightly. Sara could sense he was uncomfortable. "She died when I was little," he mumbled, avoiding her gaze. "I can't remember her, so it's alright, I guess."

"I'm sorry."

"Why? It wasn't your fault. And I don't miss her, because I barely knew her." Max kicked at a rock, and it landed in the storm drain as they passed.

They fell silent again. Sara could hardly believe she had such a conversation with Max Hall of all people. The boy her father had told her to stay away from. The son of the man who was at Sara's house as if he belonged there, whenever Allen wasn't around. It sickened her. She used to have respect for Mr. Hall. But now he was ruining her life, pulling it apart at the seams, and putting her in a situation where she was extremely uncomfortable.

"It looks like you're thinking hard," Max noted, coming to an abrupt halt on the street corner where they always separated.

Sara shrugged for the second time that night.

"No offense," she managed, fighting off more tears. "But I hate your dad for screwing up everything."

Max stared at her, his smirk now gone. She had never seen him like this, and for a moment, she was afraid that she had really hurt him. But she was surprised when he responded with, "I do too."

* * *

Screaming. Yelling. More screaming. Sara had her pillow pulled roughly over her ears, sobbing once more, into her mattress this time. It wasn't her fault this time, but she couldn't help but cry. She was sick of everything. Absolutely everything. Max the dog was curled up next to her, a paw over his snout. Sara reached out to him, clutching him around the shoulders and squeezing whenever an insult was fired.

Soon the insults and accusations turned to pleas. Pleas to escape the pain. Pleas for it all to stop, and Sara felt herself pleading with her mother, though not out loud. Never aloud.

Allen was supposed to be on a business trip. Wasn't supposed to be here. He had come back early. Why did he have to come home early? Sara wondered, Max's nose in her face. Why did he have to come and see Mr. Hall? Why? Why did he have to see them together in the kitchen?

She couldn't bear the noise anymore. It was pounding in her ears, every syllable of every word, and every sound of every blow her father made. She couldn't do this anymore, couldn't sit there and do nothing to stop it. Sara tried as best she could to compose herself, taking deep breaths as she swept over to her bedroom door, shutting it before Max could follow her out.

They were in the living room. Mr. Hall wasn't there to be seen as Sara crept down the stairs. Allen was pounding Laura, who lay crumpled on the floor. He was shouting curses at her with every punch, every kick. Sara could hardly watch. She had never seen it like this before.

"Dad, _stop it_!" she shouted at him, stomping her foot down. The tears had come again, and she couldn't stop them. It appeared he hadn't heard her, and he lifted the lamp off the end table, raising it above his head as Laura lay in a heap, blood pouring from her nose, her body curled in a fetal position.

Sara snapped. She leapt down the stairs, sprinting to Allen, grabbing the back of his shirt and punching him repeatedly with her fists, as best she could.

"Get _off_!" Allen bellowed, reaching behind him and gripping Sara's wrist, though she continued to strike him, this time on the hand that grabbed her. She struck out with her legs next, kicking him as hard as she could.

"Leave her alone," she sobbed. "Leave her alone, Dad, just _leave her alone_!"

He squeezed tighter on her arm, tighter and tighter until Sara winced, twisting in his grip, and suddenly, as if she were nothing but a rag doll, he threw her against the wall by the front door. The back of her head knocked into the wall, and she felt the pain immediately. She could barely register what had just happened, except that it had hurt, reaching up to the back of her head and feeling moisture among the . She brought her fingers to her face and saw blood.

Allen was standing stock-still, his breaths raspy and deep. His grip went slack on the lamp he was still holding, and he dropped it to the ground, where it clunked heavily. The noise of it echoed in the absolutely silent room. Time seemed to freeze as Sara stared into her father's eyes. She was shocked. Hurt. And most of all, betrayed. Her lip quivered and she made futile efforts to stop it from doing so.

Laura was still lying on the floor, unable to move, though her eyes were open, and she was watching Sara, breathing deeply.  
"Sara—" Allen started, but Sara took off running, up the stairs and into her room, where she slammed the door. Then she opened it and slammed it again. And again. And again. After a fifth time of slamming the door, she left it closed, leaned her back against it, and slid to the floor, crying again.

Max had looked up from the bed as soon as she had entered, and with a wag of his tail, he trotted over to her, licking her face once before laying his head in her lap. Sara wasn't sure how long she simply sat there, doing nothing but cry into her hands. It wasn't the fact of the injury she had sustained; it was of how she acquired it. In fact, she only felt a dull ache where she had made contact with the wall.

An hour later, when Sara's sobs had settled to simply tears, she stood and stumbled over to her bed. Max followed her, leaping up on the bed and laying his head next to hers again. She sighed and stroked his fur, trying to hear if there was anymore going on downstairs. Nothing that she could tell.

Within minutes of lying on her bed, she fell asleep. Dreamless sleep, though she tossed and turned. She awoke to the feeling of something in her shoulder. When she opened her eyes, she saw her mother there, the blood cleaned from her face, though her eye and bottom lip were swollen. She was wearing a bathrobe, covered in stains of coffee, vomit, and blood.

"Sara, honey," she whispered. "Wake up."

"I'm awake," Sara replied, though she had a pounding headache.

"Honey, let me see your head." She gestured at it as Sara sat up slowly, wincing as she pushed up with her left hand, the arm her father had gripped. When she looked at it, she saw a large purple bruise on the lower part of her arm, the exact size of her father's hand. Laura was examining the injury, slowly parting Sara's hair and making 'tsking' sounds.

"We need to clean that, so I can get a better look. It doesn't look like you bled too much." She failed to notice the stain on the far side of Sara's pillow.

Sara set her head back down on the pillow, hiding the stain she hadn't seen either, and closed her eyes. "I'll do it in the morning."

"I'm sorry, Sara," Laura whispered, fiddling with her robe. "I _will_ fix this for you."

One of Sara's eyes opened and she peeked out at her mother. Her voice was faint, as she was nearly asleep again. "Fix what, exactly?"

Laura's eyes watered and she reached out, stroking Sara's curly hair. Then she croaked, "He will never hurt you again."

Sara didn't hear her, because she had already fallen back asleep.

* * *

It was quiet when Sara woke up that morning. Her headache hadn't improved much, and she winced as it throbbed against her temples. The soreness on her arm and the back of her head hadn't improved much either, and Sara had difficulty getting out of bed, still feeling exhausted. Something felt wrong, but she couldn't figure out what it was. She looked at her bed and saw her pillow had a small area of blood on it where her head had been all night. She probably should have stopped to take care of it, but it didn't look like there was much.

She dragged herself to the closet and pulled her pajamas off, glumly noting that the back of her shirt had some blood on it as well. She tossed it in her hamper and pulled on a pale yellow t-shirt and denim shorts, sighing heavily. Yesterday's incident seemed to become fuzzier and fuzzier with each passing minute. The impact with the wall, and her father gripping her arm were what stuck out the most.

Suddenly, Sara realized what felt wrong with everything. Max wasn't in her room. She looked and saw that her door was open, and assumed that somehow, she had forgotten to close it, or maybe one of her parents had come in while she was sleeping. Sara left her room barefoot, stepping down the hallway and down the stairs, noting the eerie silence that hung over the house.

There hadn't been any guests in awhile. Business hadn't been very good as Laura's drinking problem persisted and the recommendations of the B&B went down. Sara had missed the business. The kids who had played with her were nice to be around.

Sara stepped into the living room, and noticed something else off. It was a Saturday, and Allen would be home. At this time, he should be sitting at the dining room table while Laura cooked breakfast for them all. Sara couldn't smell or hear breakfast, and she was suddenly extremely curious.

She finally found Max, sitting by her parents' bedroom door, whimpering. When he saw Sara, he stood up and barked.

"There you are," Sara greeted, walking over to him and scratching him behind the ears. "What's wrong?"

The dog whimpered some more, scratching at the bedroom door.

And suddenly Sara was filled with fear. Only one thing could mean the lack of activity in the house at this point. Something must have happened to Laura. Maybe Allen had managed to get his temper back. Maybe she had been—No…she couldn't think like that. Her mother was probably out getting groceries. Or maybe she had just gone out for a walk. Or maybe Allen had taken her to the hospital.

But why was Max upset?

It took almost all of her courage to reach out to the doorknob, and as her stomach squirmed, she turned it and pushed the door open. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight.

Allen was sleeping on the bed. But the bed was covered in blood. The walls were covered in blood. The rug, the dresser, the closet door—there was blood everywhere. And Allen was sleeping in the middle of it all. Where was Laura? Where was she? What had Allen done to her?

Then suddenly Sara realized there was too much blood for Allen to have beaten her. He hardly ever drew as much blood as was in this room. Why was he sleeping at this hour, anyway? She looked closer at him.

Then it hit her.

Sara let out a bloodcurdling scream, falling to the floor where uncontrollable, wracking sobs shook her entire body. Her world was spinning. Her vision was blurred with the unstoppable flow of tears. She could hardly make sense of what she had just seen.

Her stomach turned over and over with emotion. And the blood wasn't helping. The room smelled like nothing but blood, an overwhelming metallic smell. She could even taste it, the sour taste you got when putting a nickel in your mouth. Finally, she leaned to the side and heaved out what little of the previous night's dinner she hadn't digested. The action preceded more incessant crying.

Max hadn't entered the room. He was hanging back, his head hung and his tail between his legs. He shuffled over to Sara, who grabbed the fur around his neck and cried into it. When she began to hyperventilate, she tried to stop bawling, taking in breaths and holding them, only to have them burst out in another cry. On wobbly legs, she pushed herself up, using Max for support.

She let him go, staggering over to the bed, ignoring the blood she gathered on her feet, ignoring the blood she was placing her hands in as she leaned on the bed.

"Dad…Daddy, Daddy wake up…" she pleaded, reaching out to his arm and cringing as she touched the coolness of it. She knew her efforts were futile. He was long gone…

Where was Laura?

Sara pulled herself along the bed, to the other side, and she saw her mother lying on the floor, on her side. Her eyes were wide open as she stared at the wall. She was in her old bathrobe, which was covered in new red stains. Her hands were pure red. Red was entangled with her mass of hair. A knife lay on the floor beside her, stained red. Red was everywhere.

"Mom," Sara whimpered. "Wh-What did you _do_?"

And Laura burst into tears.


End file.
